


The Corpse Groom

by Kuroitora_chan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Corpse Bride (2005) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), Arranged Marriage, Classical Music, Comfort/Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Corpse Bride (2005), Internalized Homophobia, Misogyny, Period-Typical Homophobia, Piano, Psychological Horror, Slow Burn, Song Lyrics, Song Parody, Suspense, The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuroitora_chan/pseuds/Kuroitora_chan
Summary: Karkat Victor Vantas is very nervous about screwing his marriege to Nepeta Victoria Leijon, the daughter of the count, so he goes to get advice from his friends.The problem: most of them died in an incident with a psichotic, murderous and religious serial killer who's still lurking around.And he ends up proposing...to a corpse...who...accepts?[ Monthly updates. Last updated: 04/13/2019] ]





	1. According to Plan?

Your name is Karkat Victor Vantas and you are scared.

Like' really scared.

Your parents decided your wife for you based on the fact that she is from a much more recognized family.

She's royal.

You think her family might have accepted this arrangement exclusively because your family is LOADED.

...and just because of it.

Your parents made it very clear they would disinherit you if you screwd this up.

"GUESS WHAT FUCKERS! IT DOESNT HELP IT WHEN YOU PUT MORE PRESSURE IN ME!" you think to yourself while walking the outskirts of town after a desastrous attempt at proclamating the wedding vows this afternoon.

It was ridiculous and you are fully aware of it.

She was perfect, but you are a moron and here we are.

You wish you could ask Eridan for help. If he was alive he would totally help you reharse.

Or Tavros. He surely would try to cheer you up with his poetry.

Or Sollux. He would take your mind off of things by letting you help him with his monstrous mechanical concoctions.

Or Vriska. She would probably come up with some ludicrous and elaborate scheme to run this wedding operation down.

Or Terezi. Gosh you miss her the most. She would first cackle her ass off and then certainly go in with Vriska in the wedding crash plan.

But the bunch of shitty mothefuckers left you alone in the land of the living to cry your seeing orbs out and rot your thinkpan away.

The worst of all is: you know who culled all of them and you can do heaps of jack shit about it.

But not anymore.

You are going to ACE this fucking arrangement and get the count title.

And then you are going to find him and destroy every thing he loves.

And only after THAT

You are going to cull that RIDICULOUS, OBNOXIOUS, PSYCHOTIC, BITCHY, HIDEOUS, BLITHERING PIECE OF HOOFBEAST MOTHERFUCKING CLOWN!

And you don't even know how, but you are going to like it.

When you realize where you are, it's night.

Right in front of you, the graves of your friends rise with the glinting of the moon.

You cry and call of their help in your moment of despair, to no avail.

How could they answer anyway. They are dead, Karkat. Get your head out of your ass. You want them to be able to rest, right?

So leave the fuckers to rest in peace.

Also: stop feeling sorry for your situation and embrace it.

Feeling sorry ain't ever gotten you anywhere, so stop it.

Feel angry insted.

People are gonna throw shit at you?

Fine.

Than you'll bring the fan.

You clean your pathetic week tears of your face and with new found fire, reach into the depths of your suit pockets. From there, you fish the damned wedding ring out.

You take it, close the box, tuck it inside your pants pocket and stand.

 

KARKAT: I'm sorry. I can't avenge you all just yet. But don't worry, though. Mainly you, Terezi, for justice is on it's way. But it's a complicated plan in many steps that includes a bit of faking being someone you're not and a machine desingned to curse whatever touches it with exponencial intensity related to how many people you have culled. I guess you all would be proud. Except maybe you, Tavros.

KARKAT: But that means i gotta reharse, so, if you will excuse me.

 

With that said you leave you dead friends in their resting places alone and get deeper in the graveyard, surrounding yourself with tortuous trees and prickly shrubberys. As you walk, you talk.

 

KARKAT: With this hand...FUCK, was it the wine or the candle? Shit' shouldn't be so difficult. It's just words!

KARKAT: With this candle I'll...I'll...I'll...Fucking set my parents on fire for being two wriggly bulges.

 

You facepalm yourself.

 

KARKAT: WHY IS THIS SO FUCKING HAAAAAAAAAAAAARD?!

 

Giving up on standing and beeing tired as fuck you sit on a fallen tree. Both hands on your face, to get you thinking faster.

From all the things that could cross your mind, you find yourself thinking about who you would actually like to have in the altar with you.

His buck teeth, his square glasses, his wild raven hair.

And that thousand dolar smile who would melt you into a puddle and turn you into a flustered stuttering mess.

That'd never happen because "he was not a homosexual" whatever that might mean.

Humans were weird creatures.

But yeah. You would marry that face anytime.

You stood up again, eyes closed, picture in mind.

You opened your eyes

 

KARKAT: With this hand I'll lift your sorrows.

KARKAT: Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.

KARKAT: With this candle, I will light your way in darkness.

KARKAT: With this ring I ask you to be mine.

 

At the final sentence, you put the ring in a suspicious looking branch, and thinking back proudly of yourself for remembering the vows, ignore the sounds that surround you.

Until one of them reminds you of raising dirt.

You look at the branch moving, not daring to blink.

You see it move more and more.

Your eyes widen.

From the ground a body rises.

The moon shines, emolduring it.

 

CORPSE: Oh, you're a dude. A troll dude. No offense, I was expecting a chick. And i'm not really sure how this "afterlife" rigmarole works, so i don't know why i responded to you of all people.

 

A corpse of a white human male emergerd from the ground.

He was tall, blond, slim, had hole in his chest that was too big and too round to have been made by a sword.

He looked like he had been blasted by a cannon.

Also: he was burried wearing sunglasses.

Your first impression?

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Ok. Your second.

"What a douche"

 


	2. Bonding Blindness In The Moonlight

You are still Karkat Victor Vantas, but circunstances have changed.

For instance, you have no recollection of going to sleep, but you're still waking up, somehow.

And like that's not weird enough, you wake up in a place you don't recognize and looks like it's been left abandoned for centuries.

You look around, trying to either remember what happened or where you are. Running your hand trough the dusty objects you see a piano and your attention is imediatly drawn.

John used to play piano and you liked to watch him play it, humming the songs you didn't remember the lyrics and singing shyly the ones you did, in fact, remember.

He got you inspired to learn it as a leisure.

In part, so you could sit closer to him while you two played, in part because it was actually fun.

You sat at the creaking bench and played a single note, testing the device, seeing if it still worked.

You were surprised to see that it did.

Upon further inspection you realized it was one of the few furnitures the place had that was probably used recently, seeing as it didn't cover you with dust.

You were still scared and unfamiliar with such a decaing structure. You couldn't exacly recollect your memories from the day prior, but music has always had a tool on you, getting you happy and calm.

You start playing the song you and John used to play together.

You realize its way harder to play alone.

You realize you are not managing.

 

CORPSE: You didn't strike me as a musician.

KARKAT: Well, I'm not, but an individual can be multifaceAHHHHHHHHH!

 

Your memories hit you like a bag of bricks.

 

KARKAT: Holly, blithering mother of shit, you are dead. 

CORPSE: No shit sherlock. 

KARKAT: And you were running after me.

CORPSE: More like holding you from falling from the way you were running. Dude, whoever tought you how to run had two left legs, two right foots and used to move around in the back of some ogre looking guy who couldn't say anything other than his own name. You hit your face in some inocuous tree twice, ran on ice like a chump and got your super nice looking suit torn in some tree branches close to the brige. I was having to hold some mad laughs in because you were so ridiculous looking.

At this point in the conversation you are on top of the piano, ready to kick the corpse back from were it came from or a little further down since he manged to come back in the first place.

KARKAT: None of that would have happened if you weren't on my tail. Why were you following me?

CORPSE: Hey, you're the chump who proposed to a dead man. I followed you because I'm not a dick. You were scared shitless in the woods. Look at yourself. I don't even wanna imagine what could have happened with you if I wasn't there in the first place.

Right now you are hiperventilating. There is not enough oxygen in this place for you. You have gone mental from your revenge quest and is delusional about having gone to the FUCKING LAND OF THE DEAD!

* * *

Your name is Dave Emilly Cavendish Strider, and you are getting sick of this guy's antics.

Yeah, you have been dead for about six months and your body is starting to rot.

So what?

You are still a very fucking eligible batchelor.  

 But that's far from being the only thing getting to your goat right now. 

You weren't supposed to bring a living to the land of the dead, but your confusion got the best of you. Your necessity to find out why your body reacted to this living sack of colorful curses is imperative.

The afterlife is not bad, but it's getting really boring and you're not a particular fan of seeing yourself decay.

From what you've picked up, there is people who never solve their unsolved issues and, because of that, can't actually ascend to the next place.

You don't wanna be one of those chumps who get to see all their bones.

You're too cool for that.

And that brings you to your current problem: why the fuck did your unsolved problem click with this guy?

First of all: he's a guy!

Second: he's an alien.

So, yeah, you brought him into the land of the dead so you could figure the fuck out of this mistery, but you've been kinda stuck in Kankri's office for the past two hours or so getting lectured at how much this could be "triggering" and "emotionally exausting" and "horrifyingly scarring" to the living person in question. So you are not in a particularly playful mood when you realize you're surrounded by useless idiots, two unhelpful masters of the grimm arts and a piece of the puzzle to get you out of this plane of existence and into the next, but the bastard can't keep himself awake in the first place.

And he's passed out again.

You exhale your frustration soundly, like Rose told you to do for when you got too overwelmed with shit.

You gotta say, despite not taking as much anger off of you as punching trees like your older brother told you to, it makes it easier in your hands.

You grab the limp body of the alien and place it in a much more confortable couch, next to the piano.

The piano.

You know you shouldn't but you want to. 

The hand with fleash you still have itches and twitches.

You sit in front of the piano, hearing the squeaking of the bench.

You really should fix this thing.

You start to play moonlight sonata (0:01), having fun at how your blunt and bruised finguers seem so light and fluid in the tiles. You also like this part of the song. The first movement. It's calm, slightly melancholic and mostly uneventful. Just like the feelings in your chest. Just like the people around you. Just like the events that brought you here in the first place. Just like the hopes and dreams that got stuck in your mind the day your time ended. Just like your past. Just like you.

But then you notice your life wasn't uneventful.

It wasn't calm.

It was arduous, sterful, demanding and demented.

But even then...it was yours.

It was yours to live, laugh, fail, fight, take, break and fix.

It was yours.

It was yours and you gave it away to someone who didn't deserve it.

And then, as some sick ironic twist of fate, you were not deserving of it either.

So it got taken away.

Even if it was yours.

Only then you understand. You like the song because it's everything your life was not. 

* * *

 You wake up to the sound of the first movement of moonlight sonata.

You hate it.

The fucking song has three parts a soul can choose from. Why pick the sad one. 

Then you remember you are in the land of the dead and realizations dawns in your thinkpan.

Of course they would pick the sad part.

You glance at the corpse if front of you, still scared shithive maggots about how disturbing the apperance of a dead body in it's decomposition process is. But at some point during the song you start to see past it as well.

You see focus, feelings and regrets. All that solely by the sheer amout of expression his body could convey with his eyebrows.

Which was a lot.

You start to imagine what he would have looked like alive and notice he used to be handsome as fuck.

You sit on the couch.(5:50)

 

CORPSE: Oh, look who's up.

KARKAT: Seriously? The fucking song is fifteen minutes long, has three parts and you decide to pick the saddest one to play? Like, okay, I get this is the land of the dead or whatever but does everything have to be so damn fucking depressing all the time? Didn't you have better days at some point or another?

CORPSE: This part of the song is the best part! Everybody recognizes it in a heartbeat. Well, for those of us who still have it.

 

He points at his chest, showing you the hole.

You grimace.

 

KARKAT: You know what? Move your ass. I'll make you listen to the good part of that song!

 

He leaves the bench, which you occupy, making yourself confortable and starting right away from where he left the song.

(6:00)You dance and jump up and down a bit when playing this part of the song because it's just a happy part.

It makes you think of good things: like John and the rest of your friends. Like ice cream and winning an argument with your parents. Like going on walks in the end of the afternoon or watching romance plays in theaters. Or reading while enjoying a nice cup of coffe.

* * *

You are entranced.

You have not seen someone perform in a piano in years. Much less a guy. And with no shame about it either.

You knew this song had three parts, though. You just never got to actually practice it much.

You like the way he gets so into it that he basically forguets you're there at all.

A soft, tender smile carressing his lips as his expression softens around the notes of the song.

He's right. It does make you remember better days. Maybe even expect a couple more, despite being dead.

If not days, at least moments like this one: in which you can lay back, chill, unworring about shit and just appreciate little things like good music and company.

Then he finishes and speaks with you. (8:04)

 

ALIEN: See? Do you even have seeing orbs behind those things? Could you even appreciate the amout of technique I put on display here? Because you play like you had a finger cramp. You don't play piano with your wrist, jackass. This is not masturbation lessons for pre-teens 101. You play with your finguers!

DAVE: Why would I ever learn who to play piano right? It's a girl's thing. And If you insist on being such an expert, then why don't you play the third part? since, you know.... it's the hardest one.

 

You are chalenging him, but you just fucking wanna listen to him play a little longer.

 

ALIEN: IT'S NOT! Playing piano is an erudite art! Everybody should learn how to play it! And it's really intuitive! Okay, it takes years to get good at it, but not to play a whole song! Even you can play it with your finger cramp inability, that should tell you something! As for the third part of the song: that shit is too hard for me to do alone.

DAVE: So you would play it with someone else?

 

You really just wanna indulge this a while longer.

 

ALIEN: Well, yes, but you're not exactly offering yourself to do it and I have no obligation of entretaining you. But I bet you wouldn't be able to anyway, since you basically keymashed the poor piano into playing the first part for you and the third part actually requires technique. If you intend on finishing it.

DAVE: Oh, you're on.  Let me sit.

 

You sit by his side, snap your finguers and try remembering the notes. He's the one to start, despite your efforts.

He does the first sequence of notes and stops, inviting you into the fray.(8:05 - 8:09)

You repeat what he just did in the same tone.(8:10 - 8:11)

He does the exact same sequence of notes, a tid higher and faster. (8:12 - 8:14)

You do it too, but faster.(8:15 - 8:16)

He does it even more and add the entire next part of the song. (8:17)

At the last keys he presses(8:26) you start in the refrain again (8:28), doing it in a much different tone than the one you were doing earlier. You don't allow him to join, monopolizing a whole side of the piano, and adding the subsequent part of the song.(8:42)

He gets enoyed of waiting you finish and butts in, cutting you. (8:43)

You two continue to play the song, getting in the way of each other increasingly as the song progresses. 

You look at his face.

He's got this defiant look in his eyes, and this smirk in his face that shows every single sharp teeth.

He could totally reap you to shreads and finish what had been started about six months ago, but you remember all his goofyness and how scared he was all along and all his faces during the time he played the second movement of the song.

A side smile creeps in your mouth and when you realize, you school your expression back into place.

You get why he didn't want to play this alone.

It's like a banter fight.

You really like it.

But it's also very overwelming.

You haven't had this much fun in a long time.

* * *

Fuck.

You're getting tired and this guy doesn't even sweat.

Of course he doesn't. He's dead. What were you thinking starting a piano war with a dead guy?

Stupid past self.

Well, at least you accomplished the mission of not letting this place be so depressing anymore.

* * *

You start to pick up that he's getting tired. 

You get it, really.

If it wasn't for the fact that you are dead you have a suspicion you would be too.

Your focus for this kind of thing wasn't nearly as stimulated as you battle focus.

So instead of letting him play entire parts alone, you start helping him. 

* * *

Is he cooperating?

 

KARKAT: Why are you helping me? Wasn't this supposed to be a stamina battle?

CORPSE: You can't win someone that doesn't have to breathe in a stamina battle, man. 

 

You think this for a measle second and accepts the help because, why the fuck not, right?

You want to at least finish the gog damned song.

 

KARKAT: Fiiiiiine.

It's much easier to play now with help.

It reminds you a bit of how you used to play with John.

The song is finally reaching it's conclusion.

You are kind of sad.

This is actually very fun.

When the song ends, you both look at each other.

 

A moment of silence.

 

And you lose it. You start to laugh uncontrollably.

He bursts into it and tries to hold it back, but fails miserably.

stifliling your own laughter you manage to speak.

 

KARKAT: You know, we did all of this fuckery and I didn't even catch your name.

CORPSE: Dave. Strider.

* * *

 Bursting like you did was disgraceful.

But he did it first, so you feel less ashamed about it.

 

DAVE: And yours?

ALIEN: Karkat. Vantas.

 

You guess destiny could have paired you up with worse people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who want to listen to the song and know which part each of them played, i got the time references from here:
> 
> https://soundcloud.com/redreapergrell/beethoven-moonlight-sonata


	3. The Ones Who Have Ran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who want the background to Vriska's " Remains of the Day"  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14osOsbOKzchttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14osOsbOKzc
> 
> And for those who just want to hear the original with lyrics, cause that's a seriously good song  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4p9WKnDQzQ

You are Karkat, and you have been dragged against your will to the land of the dead.

Just wonderful.

In the few minutes you managed to spend with the guy who brought you, a piano war started, ended and brought someone along to watch.

Well... "watch".

 

SOMEONE: I Have to say Dave, I new you liked to play the piano, but never thought you'd be this good at...(snif snif) it.

 

This voice.

You would recognize this voice anywhere.

You turn away from the piano to look at her.

You are sure it's her.

 

DAVE: Well, look what a music to a blind girl brought. Another blind girl. So TZ, can you see the moon already?

 

Terezi was there.

Standing on her own.

The only visible bruise was the one from her death, located as a line in her neck.

She was hung.

Right in front of you.

But she was here now.

Right in front of you.

 

KARKAT: ...Terezi?

TEREZI: ...Karkat?

KARKAT: Terezi I........I am so sorry... I'm so sorry I was so useless. I'm so sorry I couldn't stop him. Stop it.

TEREZI: Karkat, did you die?

 

Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

You couldn't even hold your tears back. At this point they were running down your cheeks like waterfalls.

You rise and embrace her.

She embraces you back shyly at first, but then with her usual blunt spirited nature, lifting you off the ground.

 

TEREZI: You are alive, you dipshit! What are you doing here?

DAVE: So you guys know each other?

KARKAT: OH, that is an undestatement.

TEREZI: HAHAHAHAHA, well, yeah. He's the guy who I could count at all moments! He always helped me and never asked any questions.

KARKAT: Regret it to this day. Maybe I should have asked more questions. I just thought you were better off scheming with me than with Vriska. Since, you know, unlike her, I worry about your well being and health. Both mental and phisical.

TEREZI: She's improved a lot in that regard after dying.

DAVE: Okay, you guys have to admit that that's ironic as fuck. And you know Vriska as well?

TEREZI: Let's just say that Karkat is part of my crew.

 

She swang and arm around your shoulders.

 

TEREZI: He was the only one who actually managed to run away. He's also the one carring all of our wills, now.

DAVE: Well, what's that supposed to mean?

 

Your brow furrows and your fist clench.

Your claws sting in the palm of your hand.

 

KARKAT: It means I'm going to avenge them all. 

TEREZI: Karkat is the knight of justice who will bring doom to the one who wronged us!

 

She says that exitedly and licks the tear trails in your cheeks.

It's fucking gross, but you missed even her weird mannerisms. It makes you smile dorkly.

 

DAVE: People sure are counting on you, shorty.

TEREZI: You will learn sooner rather than later that maybe you should change shorty to shouty.

KARKAT: SHUT UP! DON'T SPEAK OF ME LIKE I'M NOT HERE, YOU JERKS!

TEREZI: See what I mean?

DAVE: Probably more than yourself.

 

Terezi claps her hands together.

She just had an idea.

 

TEREZI: We should take Karkat to the bar! Everyone is going to be there! Vriska is presenting tonight and I'm sure everyone would like to know how you're doing!

* * *

You are Dave now, and you are screwed beyond your imagination.

Terezi almost cought up with you when she asked him why he was down here even if he was alive.

Thank you diversion tecniques!

You wouldn't be able to explain anything anyway, and coming up with lies on the fly would not be easy.

And, like' you get it. You are a guy who was about to marry and got tricked into wating under a three to get brutally murdered.

But when you died you explicitly said you would wait your true love.

This can't be it.

He can't be it.

It's a he.

A he.

An ALIEN HE!

And yet, here you stand, looking him get all friendly and touchy with Tz and wanting nothing more than to take him away from her.

When she licked him you really wanted to have a three around. Fuck your knucles.

You would never hurt Tz, even if your gut tells you to give her at least a couple bitch slaps.

But you wouldn't do that.

You're too cool for that.

But you can't exactly take the bitterness out of your voice.

 

DAVE: Yeah, sure, why not.

KARKAT: You guys have a bar around?

TEREZI: Of course we do! We are dead, not savages!

 

You, Karkat and Terezi walk down the street until you arrive at the "Down n' Under - Bar and Restaurant".

 

DAVE: Careful. Watch the stairs.

KARKAT: What kind dunce you take me fooooooooooooooooooooooooor.

 

He trips down the stairs.

You go down and around him.

 

DAVE: I warned you about the stairs, bro.

KARKAT: WHY DON'T YOU GO FUCK YOURSELF? HUH?

 

Every dead soul looks at you two.

The whole place goes quiet.

Fuck, you hate when shit like that happens.

Terezi, on the other hand, was cackling like a maniac.

Then, something around 4 different types of voices said the same thing at the same time.

 

VOICES: KARKAT???

KARKAT: GUYS??

 

Vriska was the first to speak.

 

VRISKA: What are you doing in the land of the dead? I though you were going to make us proud of you, you big crybaby!

TAVROS: Y-You know... E-Even if you think I would not like the plan or be on board with it, I really appreciate the intention.

ERIDAN: You were absolutely right, though. You definetly could use a bit more practice at the vows. 

SOLLUX: Wow, Karkat. For thome one who wanted to make uth proud you died rather quickly. Your ath. codeth are thit, by the way. That would've failed tho thpetacularly. Ha. I'm almotht happy you paththed away before you had the chance to run that piece of thit.

KARKAT: Not everyone can have skills with the dubious sciences like you. I'm a love expert, not a revenge expert!

TEREZI: No one is as good with that as me and Vriska. You could never beat us in a revenge off.

VRISKA: That is absolutely true, mate.

ERIDAN: More importantly, how did you meet Terezi's boyfriend before any of us?

VRISKA: ERIDAN! Ex-boyfriend.

KARKAT: WHAT? 

SOLLUX: You didn't know?

TEREZI: This is just perfect.

DAVE: Can't we let this go? It's a long story anyway.

 

You really don't want Vriska spilling your guts around, but, remember when I said you were screwed?

* * *

Vriska singing? Well, that's something you're gonna try and enjoy.

When you see, she's on stage ready to put up a show.

 

**VRISKA:**

And what a story it is!

A tragic tail of romance, passion and a murder most foul!

**TAVROS:**

This is gonna be good

**VRISKA:**

Hit it boys.

Hey! Give me a listen

You corpses of cheer

At least those of you

Who still got an ear

Gonna tell you a story

Make a skeleton cry

Of our own jubuliciously lovely corpse groom

**THE CREW:**

Die, die

We all pass away

Don't bother with frown

Cause it's really okay

You may try and hide

And you may try and prey

But we all end up the remains of the day!

**VRISKA:**

_(She puts Terezi in the spotlight in the right)_

Our girl was a beauty known for miles around

_(She puts Dave in the spotlight on the left)_

When a misterious stranger came into town

He was plenty good looking

But down in his cash

And our poor little baby

She fell hard and fast

(She threw herself in his arms and he got her)

Both parents said no

They just couldn't cope

So our lovers came up with a plan to enlope 

**THE CREW:**

Die, die

We all pass away

Don't bother with frown

Cause it's really okay

You may try and hide

And you may try and prey

But we all end up the remains of the day!

(INSTRUMENTAL)

**VRISKA:**

So they conjured up a plan

To meet late at night

Told not a soul

Kept the whole thing tight

Now his bro's prime suit fit like a glove

You don't need much when you're really in love

Except for a few things

Or so I'm told

Like the family sword

And a sachel of gold!

Then next to the graveyard by the old olk tree

On a dark foggy night at a quarter to three

He was ready to go

But where was she?

 

All the pieces of this story fit in your mind like you just finished reading a murder mistery.

The day she got killed along with the rest of your friends was the day she was going to run away with him.

That's why she didn't show.

 

**ERIDAN:**

And then?

**VRISKA:**

He waited

**ERIDAN+TAVROS:**

And then?

**VRISKA:**

There in the shadows.

Was that...a man?

**ERIDAN+TAVROS+SOLLUX:**

And then?

**VRISKA:**

His sword drawn out loud

**ERIDAN+TAVROS+SOLLUX+SOME RANDO:**

And then?

**VRISKA:**

And then babe

Everything went black.

Now when he opened his eyes

he was dead as dust

Everything gone

And his heart was bust

So he made a vow lying under that tree

That he'd wait for his true love to come set him free

Always waiting for someone to ask for his hand

And out of the blue comes this groovy young man!

Who vows forever, to be by his side!

Taking the place of the old corpse bride!

* * *

You are going to kill her.

Not only she spilled your guts to the entire bar, but made you take part in it and is explicitly calling you a fag.

You are going to fucking disimbowl her and hide the pieces up the asses of the most dangerous animals known to man and troll kind.

But first you have to clean your prestigious name.

Some other time.

One on one.

Right now you just need to leave this place as fast as your legs can take you

* * *

 

Scaning the Bar you notice a presence is missing.

Dave in nowhere to be seen.

Fuck, you gotta find him. That engament ring is expensive as fuck and you really need it back.

How the hell you're gonna ask him that back, you have no fucking clue, but you can figure it out after you find him.

Some other person is presenting and you use that as an opportunity to pass trough  the crowd of dead people.

You hope no one decides to bite or scrach you. You really don't have intentions of becaming a Zombie. If that's even a thing that can happen.

This time, you're careful about the stairs.

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

When you leave the bar, and closes the door, silence downs.

You look around, trying to find clues to where he could have gone.

You see nothing and decide to go back the way you came.

Maybe he went back to the piano house.

DAVE: Looking for someone?

 

After hearing his voice, you stop.

He's sitting in an alley, alone, fidgeting with the engagement ring.

 

KARKAT: Why did you leave?

DAVE: You try having your lame unfinished business spit to a crowd. You'd wanna run too. And she sang about it, which made it even lamer!

KARKAT: Wanting to marry someone you love and that loves you back is not lame at all. But some people have that as a life goal. Others wouldn't be able to endulge such fantasies if they actually want to achieve their goals.

DAVE: Well, sometimes you have to put your own well being above the ones of other people. If you live your life for other people, you're never gonna live your own life.

KARKAT: That sounds like it came from a place of expirience.

DAVE: So did yours.

Both of you go silent and he keeps fidgeting with the ring.

 

DAVE: I agree that my unfinished business in not lame, because when I promised I would wait until I could engage with my true love it felt right and epic. When I did that, though, I thought my true love was Terezi. But when I found her in the land of the dead, she broke up with me.

KARKAT: She never intended to marry you in the first place.

DAVE: What?

KARKAT: Terezi and I have been friends since forever. But so have her and Vriska. Even longer, actually. When alive, Terezi lost her vision because of a fuck up Vriska made. To make her pay, she blinded one eye of her and blew one arm off. With my help, though, we figured out that they had been put agains each other by none other than my ex-moirail. So we concocted a plan to get revenge on him. But we needed the Cavendish Welsh Sword and it's power to "purge evil". So, Terezi seduced you into the situation you were in. But things exploded in our own hands. Somehow Gamzee found out what we were planing and killed everyone involved, except for me. The day she was supposed to meet you under the tree, she was actually being hung to death right in front of my eyes. You got killed as some twisted way of tying lose ends, I suppose. 

* * *

 Your jaw is locked in place. Your fingers, tightly intertwined. Your eyes, watering.

As always, your brother was right.

You got played by your feelings like a chump. Like a loser. Like a delusional little kid.

You really could use that punching tree right now.


	4. Land Of The Living Dead

You are now Dave, and you are currently having a mental breakdown from the sheer magnitude of bullshit you got dragged into when you died, about six months or so ago. Karkat, a troll dude who somehow managed to make your unfinished business respond after all those months, just told you about the intricate vengence plot that got concocted and put into place in order to, according to your understanding, curse a psichotic clown to an eternity of misery and suffering as some twisted way to uphold justice. From what he told you, that went astonishinly wrong, since that guy learned all about their plan and, anticipating their actions, killed all of the involved, except for the living troll standing right in front of you in this dirty alleyway.

All your life you had been raised to be seen. The one time you said _fuck it, I'm gonna do what my gut think it's right,_ life reared it's ugly, deformed, grimmacing head in your direction and screwed you in a godly like fashion.

The conclusion gotten by this sudden revelation is that you have been used and that Bro was right all along. You should have kept your head down, done things according to plan and married Feferi, like he told you to. If you had, not only you would be rich beyond imagination, surrounded by the finest things a high class rich aristocrat could buy, being able to indulge in your most vile vices, but you would be alive and your brother would certainly be proud of you.

"Dave, did you actually fall in love with Terezi?" Karkat asked you in a serious voice, interrupting your train of thought. You responded in kind, but a little less restrained than you would like "Yes, I did. I don't know if you noticed" you point at the hole in your chest " but I was willing to die for her". He continues "Well, you were not the only one". This statement actually suprises you. "What do you mean by that?" you inquire genuinely. "I, much like you, was willing to die for her" he laughs bitterly " so much so, I asked Gamzee to take me in her place. But instead, the crazy psycho decided I should live and she should die. As a twisted joke of her legislacerator status, the mothefucker hung her, and made me watch while he suffocated her to death". You hesitate a bit, not finding words to convey your intentions "That's fucked up", you manage. "I'm not saying you're not in your right to be hiveshit mad at us. I kept friendships with the most cunning, shitty, annoying people in town. I know how it feels to be played and have your fucking feelings turned into weapons to hurt you. What I can say is that she had no intentions of getting you killed, since I was the person she confided in while she was dating you. But the fact is that there was someone much more important for her".

Even if you can understand, it doesn't hurt any less.

"Terezi, Vriska, Tavros, Sollux and Eridan are all my friends, and I want them to be able to rest in peace since I could not save them... I still need your sword for that", you knew there would be a catch. He wouldn't tell all this of the good of his heart. "No", you say without letting him finish. He's gonna ask your help to get the sword from The Cavendish Home. You are not going back to that place, or the land of the living, for that matter. "Please" he begs insistent " I can't do this without it" he states. "I have no obligation of helping your revenge quest", you answer. "I have no obligation to help you with your unfinished business. I could just take that ring and ask any of my friends to teleport me back to the land of the living". You consciously hold your bony hand, bringing it closer to your chest. This is the only lead about your unfinished business you managed to find in six months. If you let it go, you don't know when another one is going to show up.

You start to ponder about it. That place is...creepy to say the least. Of course, you're a walking corpse. Nothing in that place is going to be as terrifing as you, except maybe him. Yeah. He is definetly gonna be a problem.

It's undeniable you would never go back to that place if you could. It would be a walk in the park of your childhood memories. The good and bad ones. You're dead. Remembering when you were alive and young is not exactly your definition of fun. But you're not gonna be able to move on so soon if Karkat decides not to help with it. What choice were you really left with? "If I help you get the sword, are you going to help me solve my unfinished business?" you ask. "Yes" he says back imidietly. It surprised you, in all honesty. "No matter what it takes?" you push. "No. No matter what it takes!" he says, kinda full of all this bulshit "can we go get ready to leave now, you twat?" he asks with an almost palpable lack of patiance. "What do you mean by "get ready"? I can just teleport us right now " he gives you a look of incredulity. "YOU ARE NOT GOING TO THE LAND OF THE LIVING LOOKING LIKE THIS" he says much louder than the tone that was being used so far, in an almost scream.

* * *

This guy is un-fucking-belivable. How would you be able to walk around in the land of the living with a decaing corpse and not draw atention. The obvious answer is that you wouldn't and avoiding the creation of mass panic would be ideal.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news but, this is as good looking as a corpse can get, since, you know, it's none other than me" he tells you with a single eyebrow lifted past the rim of his sunglasses, gesturing to himself. "I disagree. A lot" you tell him stomping your way out of the old, cramped, dusty, shadowed alley. "We are going to pass by my place before we head for the Cavendish Home. Can you take us there?" but instead of the answer you were hoping to get, he shook his head side to side and explained "I can only get to the land of the living by the cemitery, no other passages are possible unless you actually acquire knowledge of the grimm arts".

If he could take you straight home the chances of drawing attention would be lessened, but if that is as far as he can go, you're gonna have to work around the limitations. This will be the least of your problems in the end of the day. The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls, as it's known, is a terrifing orphanage located in a hill, closer to the graveyard than a place for children had any business being. It got decrepid and morbid as time went by. It's location was not always surrounded by tombstones and fog, though. This was actually the graveyard's doing. The more people died, the more it expended and the closer to the orphanage it got.

Not only that, but it also used to be a place to which the high class sent their children to be tought. The moto of that place was "Perfection". They were teaching the next generation to be perfect.

Despite it's prestigious start, some strange incidents happened to the place and when the younger Cavendish took over, he closed the school part of it, running it as an orphanage only. But even so, the motto of that place continued. They continued to turn street children in perfect people. Well...for those who managed to leave the premisses. 

The whole place, much like it's current way of conducting itself, was disturbing. And like all that wasn't enough, you were trying to break in and steal something from it, being scorted by an undead.

If your plan had any more holes, it would be a cheese grater. And just for good mesure, your scrawny ass would be a very fucking smelly molded goulda.

"I do know someone who would be able and willing to do so, though" he continued. "Then why didn't you say that first? " you can't keep your annoyance in anymore " we could already be on our way there!". He didn't answer back, keeping still. "Well??" you push. "Sh. We have company". Turning to face the same direction as him, you see a figure form from the shadows of the alley.

The slim, swift figure was dressed in a long silky black dress with violet and purple details. Like Dave, her complexion was pale, but not blue and morbid. Instantly you identified her as a living, breathing, flesh and bone human  being. The black makeup made all her features contrast, and her violet pinkysh eyes were predatory and deadly. You could easily tag her as one of those femme fatale from your romances.

"Hey, Rose" he started " we were just talking about you"."Greetings, Dave" she said acknowledging  him "I know. That is one of the reasons I have decided to grace you with my presence in the first place" but now, she had turned her gaze towards you, and directing her attention in your direction, continued "the other reason was to meet the gentleman said to be the  _groovy_ young man Vriska sang about".

Dave makes a scrunched up face "That's not!-" but you don't let him finish, introducing yourself and cutting whatever he had to say short "Karkat, miss" you start "And as much as I like appreciating Vriska engaging in one of her hobbies that don't involve culling, cunning, disembowling or blowing stuff up, she definetly has a vein for theatrics and the spot light, which ends with her, more often than not, blowing things out of proportion to make them sound like they have way more fucking grandeur then they actually do, so I'm terribly sorry to tell you that I'm not all she made me look like. As a matter of fact, I am a blithering piece of hoof beast shit, so she definetly said those things just to get under somebodys skin".

"Well, that is a pitty. I enjoyed it quite a lot. The whole drama made it quite relatable and the happy ending was refreshing, to say the least. It also made for a particularly open minded and progressive piece of entertainment". 

"Can we cut to the chase" Dave intervined "we need you to teleport us to Karkat's house" he stated.

"Making polite conversation was never your strong suit, was it, dear" the poisonous sarcasm in her voice dripped from her tiny satisfied smile. "Obviously I am able to do so, but I'm not charitable. The grimm arts themselves demand payment. I cannot do something in exchange of nothing".

 "I can make sure you are handsomely rewarded with a reasonable amo-" a finger with a nail perfectly painted black intercepts your lips "Gold and riches would do virtually nothing for someone like me. I can craft them from the rotten dirt that surrounds the decaing coffins of the inhabitants of this place" she stops to think for a moment and then speaks again "There is something you have that I would be willing to exchange for my services, though."

"And that would be?" you question.

"That, Karkat, would be a favor."

"You want me to owe you a favor?" 

You'd rather pay her 5 times whatever price she demanded than owe a favor to a witch.  Several different scenarios where this could blow in your hands cross your mind, making you realize that maybe you should just tell people in the streets to fuck off when you passed by with a corpse by your side.

But then you remembered your plan to marry Nepeta and get the respect you were due. You couldn't be seen as a weird freak if you wanted to be respected by your peers and powerful in a community.

"What kind of favor would that be?" you inquire, curious and hesitant.

"Whatever kind I see fit, but that won't include anything overpriced. You are not asking me to enchant someone with a death curse, so you don't have to worry about killing anyone or yourself" she clarified.

You think for a moment. It's the best option right now. Undercover. Inconspicuous. "Alright. I accept. So you are gonna send us straight to my house, correct?"

"Correct"

From the folds of her silky dress, Rose took out a knitting needle like wand. Long and adorned from tip to handle. With a swoshing wrist movent, several crows surrounded you, and as the sight of your surrounding got covered by them, your sense of direction got scrambled. Right before all of your vision get covered, you saw her lips move, giving you one final warning.

"Don't forget your promise. I am going to come collect it."

With that, every thing went dark. Almost instantly after, the massive amounts of crows dispersed, and you were graced with a vision that caused greats amounts of realief and worry.

Hive sweet fucking Hive.

* * *

 Impressed would only begin to describe how you felt when seeing Karkat's household.

The front had a main entrance with a charrier parked on the opposite side of where you and him stood. Splitting said entrance in two, there was a tile path made with white polished tiles that lead to a marmor stairchase, right before double wooden doors. The whole house was tall and made of stone. It was a mansion. No other way to describe it.

"You, wait here until I check inside. I need to be sure if my idiotic parents are home or not. Only come inside after I say it's safe."

You shrug your shoulders and gesture for him to go ahead. When he gives you his permission, you climb the steps and enter a huge room with striking resemblence to a ball room. A piano was placed in a sort of podium, taking every thing that composed it's structure off the ground. A long staircase opened way to the second floor, splitting in two and emolduring a imposing painting of the Vantas family, composed by Karkat and his parents. "Hey, stinckmcgee, my room is this way, just like the bathroom". Karkat was already on the second floor, waiting for you. "Man, I have no other suit. Even if I did get the stink out of me, I'd still be dead, so that's a smell that ain't going away" you state, matter-of-factly. "Many things in this town smell as rotten as the dead. But if you smell dead and look dead, guess what, shitstain, people are gonna pinpoint you. I can't be tagged as "the freak with the rotting friend" because I tryied to help a corpse once. I am alive, Dave. And unlike what people make it sound like, my entire life does NOT revolve around the dead and the doomed".

 You guess that makes sense. Going upstaris you make sure not to make contact with anything, but even then, you can't take your eyes of the piano. It's so imposing compared to the one from your house or the one in the Down n' Under. It looks like it could be in an orchestra. Entirely black with prestine white tiles, the Grand Piano had it's lid half open, inviting any who would dare climb the footsteps to look into it's inside chords. The stool was ajustable, and it's purple cushion contrasted with the rest of the arrengement.

Absentmindedly, you scratched your fleshy hand with your bony one, and turned your gaze to the room filled hall that extended in front of you.

You went in the direction of the only opened door and saw Karkat searching for something in his wardrobe. His room, like everything else, was big, but obviously used. Nothing was neither dusty nor particularly neat. His bed had not been made, his wooden desk was completely covered in books and papers from various sources and topics. The walls exibited posters from plays both human and troll. One thing was common in all of those: they were romances. Love stories that varied from the comic through the tragic till the dark.

"So. What are we doing?"

" **I** am going to spare you something to wear.  **You** are going to go to the ablution trap to rinse yourself of this muscle beast hidious stench we are acknowledging to be your odor"

"Like you're smelling much better" you retort.

"I'm not under the aggravating fact of being a dead and decaing corpse. And despite whatever impression you're under, I AM going to bathe as well"

Footsteps came down the hallway and a feminine voice made it's way into the bedroom. Karkat hid you behind the his bedroom door.

 "Both bathtubs are ready, Sir"

"Thank you. Have something with meat be made for dinner as well, please" Karkat ordered.

"Yes, of course, sir" 

When she left, you got out of cover "You have a maid?" You asked, a little incredulous. 

"No, of course not, shit for brains. I have three. And a cook. Do you think a place this big cleans itself?"

If Bro knew this guy, he would make you pretend to be a fag just to seduce him, so you guys could get your pockets full.

"You take the bathtub on the left ablution trap. I'll take the one on the right one" he states and hands you a bundle of clothing that you didn't see what it consisted of.

He accompanied you to the bathroom to make sure you wouldn't be spotted and left you there to your own devices. You hadn't seen a bathroom in a long while. The dead don't exactly value higiene since they're all decomposing and coexisting simbioticaly with the maggots. Ever since you died, getting clean never even crossed your mind, but now that you see the steamy hot water in front of you, it becames not only obvious that you need one, but that you want one.

* * *

 After you finish bathing you realize Dave has not left the ablution trap yet. Good. He did need a good cleaning.  Fuck, make that into cleansing. You let one of the maids know that she can clean after your bath, thank her, because you're not a bulgemuncher, and head down the stairs. Heading for the kitchen to make sure your dinner will be ready - you're starving  - you look at the Grand Piano with fondness and, having the cooking smell fill your nostrils, decide that[ fligh of the bumblebee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M93qXQWaBdE) from Rachimaninoff is a piece you should definetly practice more.

While doing so you get distracted, focused in the song entirely, but some parts are harder then others, and when you look upstairs to check if Dave had or not left the ablution trap already you are surprised by a sight. 

He ain't any less dead, but he looks unsormountably more pleasing to the eye. If you didn't know him, you would surely tag him as sick, but alive. His hair is still drying, but it looks blond and clean rather than dusty grey. He is adjusting the slivers in his wrists and both his hands are covered by the leather gloves you, so mindfuly, provided him with. Ajusting the rusty-red tie around his neck just as his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, everything he had that screamed he was dead and rotten vanished. And now, for your dismay, he was looking dapper and dashing.

“Don’t you get tired of playing that?” he starts, referring obviously to the Grand Piano “You know, no one is going to take you seriously or respect you if you keep indulging in such a girly hobby” he states and pockets his hands in the suit trousers. How can he be so ignorant? So brute? So raw! If your patience was a guitar, a string would have been bust.  “Are you trying to impress me, per chance?” he mocks, giving you a side smile, and getting the second string bust. “Because that is why girls learn piano, in the first place” and the third “so they can impress and seduce the ones they want to merry with” and the forth “Are you so desperate you would marry a dude?” and the fifth. It’s your last. If he says anything else, god help him “Or is all of that in the hopes that at least one part of you will turn out to be helpful with the ladies?” he says and wiggles his right eyebrow. Yep. That was the last string. 

You can’t have an argument with a dogmatic, but the amount of shit he said doesn’t make it easy to keep your curses and voice in check. So, instead of bottling it up, you try a more sophisticated approach. You need something to smash the keys, and since you were already in a Rachmaninoff vibe, [Prelude in C Sharp Minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCtixpIWBto) sounds like a great idea to help you convey your anger issues. It just needs some minor adjustments.  

By closing your hands in fists, all your knuckles and joints crack 

 (00:04) “Funny you would say that”(00:12)  

(00:04)” considering who proposed to who”(00:12)  

(02:10)“You haven’t said yes when we met”(02:14)  

(02:15) “But you have not said no too” (02:19)  

(02:29) “So, are my piano skills working, bulgemuncher? Are you ready to swoon so fucking hard your breathsacks are going to grow back along with with your shameglobes? Because I don’t remember you saying that much insecure and baseless bullshit when WE were rocking Bethoven in that filth you called a Piano” (02:42) 

You admit to yourself that last part was a bit harsh. The piano was the only clean thing in that place, but he’s the one who called you off in one of your favorite pastimes. This ain’t sliding. 

“Well, I didn’t wanna break your little living heart” that condescending tone was going to make you go crazy! “And for someone who pointedly likes this pussy hobby so much, I was disappointed. You didn’t even play the hard part of the song. Did a single night with Dave Strider make you this exhausted?” 

HOW? How can he not notice the connotations in the things he says? Your cheeks go dark with embarrassment of his words. He fucking smirks. 

“You know, even with my lack of expertise and alleged wrist cramp, I could have played the entire song” he assured you.  

“That wouldn’t matter, because playing it whole does not make it automatically good. Let me rest and I won’t only play it to its conclusion, but much better than you ever could since [anything you can do, I can do better](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiPXq5Jw_9Q)” you brag. 

He gives you a mocking laugh. 

 **DAVE:**  

I can do anything better than you 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you can’t 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I can 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you can’t 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I can 

Yes, I can 

‘Cause 

Anything you can be 

I can be greater 

Sooner or later  

I’m greater than you. 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you’re not 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I am 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you’re not 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I am 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you’re not 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I am 

Yes, I am! 

I can shoot a partridge 

With a single cartridge 

 **KARKAT:**  

I can get a sparrow 

With a bow n’ arrow 

 **DAVE:**  

I could live on bread and cheese 

 **KARKAT:**  

And only on that? 

 **DAVE:**  

Yep 

 **KARKAT:**  

So could a rat 

 **DAVE:**  

Any note you can sing 

I can sing higher 

 **KARKAT:**  

I can sing any note higher than you 

 **DAVE:**  

No, you can’t 

 **KARKAT:**  

Yes, I caaaaaaan 

 **DAVE:**  

No, you caaan’t 

 **KARKAT:**  

Yes, I caaaaaaaaaaaaan 

 **DAVE:**  

No, you caaaaaan’t 

 **KARKAT:**  

Yes, I caaaaaaaaaaaan 

 **DAVE:**  

No, you caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan’t 

 **KARKAT:**  

Yes, IIIIIIIIII caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan 

 **DAVE:**  

How do you sing that high? 

 **KARKAT:**  

I’m a TROLL! 

 **DAVE:**  

Well, anything you can say 

I can say softer 

 **KARKAT:**  

I can say anything softer than you 

 **DAVE:**  

No, you can’t 

 **KARKAT:**  

Yes, I can 

 **DAVE:**  

(No, you can’t )

 **KARKAT:**  

(Yes, I can )

 **DAVE:**  

((No, you can’t ))

 **KARKAT:**  

((Yes, I can ))

YES, I CAN! 

 **DAVE:**  

I can drink a liquor  

Faster than a flicker 

 **KARKAT:**  

I can drink it quicker 

And get even sicker 

 **DAVE:**  

I can open any safe 

 **KARKAT:**  

Without being caught? 

 **DAVE:**  

Too bad! 

 **KARKAT:**  

That’s what I thought, you crook. 

Any note you can hold 

I can hold longer 

 **DAVE:**  

I can hold any note longer than you 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you can’t 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I can 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you can’t 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I can 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you caaaaan’t 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I caaaaaan 

Yes, IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII can 

 **KARKAT:**  

Yes, you caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan 

Where you keep all that air? 

 **DAVE:**  

I don’t. 

 **KARKAT:**  

Oh. 

Anything you can say 

I can say faster 

 **DAVE:**  

I can say anything faster than you 

 **KARKAT:**  

No, you can’t 

 **DAVE:**  

Yes, I can 

 **KARKAT:**  

Noyoucant 

 **DAVE:**  

YesIcan 

 **KARKAT:**  

Noycant 

 **DAVE:**  

Yescan 

 **DAVE** **+** **KARKAT** **:**  

Noyk Ysc Noyk Ysc Noyk Ysc Noyk Ysc Noyk Ysc Noyk Ysc Noyk Ysc Noyk Ysc Noyk Ysc 

 **DAVE:**  

I can jump a hurdle 

 **KARKAT:**  

I can wear a girdle 

 **DAVE:**  

I can knit a sweater 

 **KARKAT:**  

I could fill it better 

 **DAVE:**  

I can do ‘most anything! 

 **KARKAT:**  

Can you bake a pie? 

 **DAVE:**  

No 

 **KARKAT:**  

Neither can I 

 **DAVE:**  

Anything you can sing 

I can sing sweeter 

 **KARKAT:**  

I can sing anything sweeter than you 

 **DAVE:**  

~ No, you caaan’t ~ 

 **KARKAT:**  

~ Yyeess, I ca – a – a – an ~ 

 **DAVE:**  

~ No, you caaaaan’t ~ 

 **KARKAT:**  

~ Yes, I caaaaan ~ 

 **DAVE:**  

~ Noooo, you can’t ~ 

 **KARKAT:**  

~ Yes, I caaaaan ~ 

 **DAVE:**  

~ Noooo, you can’t ~ 

 **KARKAT:**  

~ Oh, yes, I caaaaan ~ 

 **DAVE:**  

 No, you can’t, can’t, can’t!  

 **KARKAT:**  

Yes, I can, can, can!  

 **DAVE** **+** **KARKAT** **:**  

No you | Yes I 

 

The doors of the saloon were spread open, interrupting what you imagine would have been the end of that – whatever that was – and bringing inside two figures you didn’t realize you missed until both of them presented themselves before your eyes. 

The heat of the finale had brought you and Dave at a uncomfortable closeness, to which, unspokenly, both of you addressed as soon as the sound of opening doors hit your hearingsponges, pushing each other in opposing directions and leaving the respectable distance of an open arm between the two of you. 

You look at him and catch a glimpse of the sheer amount of discomfort he must be feeling. He’s hunched forward, shoulders in the height of his hearingsponges, torso contracted as if he had held his breath, face looking away from you and a blush barely visible, mix of the lack of blood in his veins and the sunglasses that covered his face. Yeap. You can sing anything sweeter than him. 

Despite your victory, your parents stand in the entrance of the mansion, looking at the both of you like they had been approached by a ghost. Eh. Half true, if you think about it. 

* * *

What the fuck were you thinking? What was that? Whatever it was, it was wrong, and pointless, and warm, and fun and just so, fucking, wrong. And to make things worse, Karkat’s parents arrived.  

Ms. And Ms. Vantas were quite visually appealing. The first Ms. Vantas had supernaturally long braids that feel over her shoulders, fuchsia dress and makeup, long horns and so many expensive glittering jewels that the sky could get jealous of her. The second Ms. Vantas had a shyer fashion sense. Her short black hair and glasses gave her a wiseness aura. Her dress was cerulean blue and her horns were identical to the ones of Vriska. 

But wait a second.... WHAT? KARKAT HAD TWO MOMS? 

The cerulean lady ran to hug him. “Karkat, where were you? We searched all around for you! How could you leave to God knows where and not, at the very least, let us know where you went!”, and then, the fuchsia lady showed all her teeth in an angry face. Striking resemblance, now that you noticed “You missed the rehearsal, you rascal! What face do you think we showed up with yesterday when our own son didn’t show up for his own wedding rehearsal!” 

The cerulean lady caressed the fuchsia one and, surprisingly, acknowledged you “And who is your friend?” 

“Well, this is-” a guy who is going to introduce himself “I am Dave Cavendish Strider, madams, and I am terribly sorry to have stolen your son from his, indubitably essential affairs. Poor Karkat was merely helping me with some aristocratic business, you see” play the high society card. It always works. And it isn’t technically a lie. 

Both ladys look at each other and then, at you. Karkat facepalms. Hard. With both hands. 

“Dear, would you mind dinning with us?” said the cerulean “And staying for the night?” complemented the fuchsia “MENAH!”, you guess the fuchsia lady’s name is Menah “What? I’m being sensible, nothing else. It’s dark outside,” true but it makes no difference “he didn’t bring his chariot,” you don’t own a chariot “It’s dangerous at this time of night,” you are dead, nothing can harm you “there is plenty of food for us all,” you don’t need nor want to eat “and him and Karkat are friends, so what’s the big deal?” you don’t know if you can consider yourself and Karkat as friends but, he is friends with your friends so, I guess that makes him your friend by extension? You’ll roll with it, but mostly because you just had a shower and you don’t want to ruin your perfect new suit by digging your own grave to have a place to sleep. 

You have, once already, unfortunately, been in said situation and done exactly that. 

It sucked like’ some major ass. 

The horrid sound of piano keys being mashed without concern reaches your ears. You see Karkat banging his head in the piano in a constant and slow rhythm. He stops and looks at you by turning his head. His jaw is locked in place showing all his fangs. He is not pleased. 

“I accept your offer, gentle ladies” you tell the both of them. Her faces brighten. You look back at the angry limp body by the piano, satisfied. 

His right eye is twitching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying and looking forward to next chapters, subscribe to the story and, please, comment. I love having feedback, reading what were your favorite parts, or what you think will happen next =)
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who gave me kudos so far. The fact that you like and support this story is imperative for it to keep progressing and for me to keep motivated. So, thank you very much. ♡
> 
> I'm going to try to keep the "once a month" schedule, updating every first week of each month, but I'm not gonna set a specific date.
> 
> I would also like to apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes. I don't have a beta but will correct them under notice.


	5. Despite The Spite I Spit - part l

Yeah. You guess your name is still Karkat Victor Vantas, even though you don’t exactly feel like yourself. More like... an empty shell: devoid of will, hope and joy. Why, you ask? Well, you can start by the fact that you think you might be developing a black inclination towards a dead man you have already, even if not in factuality, proposed to in a red manner. Why did all the strange things in town have to be bestowed upon your slim, unappealing figure like a curse? 

If you ever found out that Gamzee used your curse bomb to make a joke out of your life, you don’t know if you would say  _fuck it_  and outright kill him, or cry and kill yourself like the failure you know you are. Thinking about all you have learned about the dead and the company you would have under the dirt, you are seriously inclined to the later. 

Actually, you might not even wait to find jack shit out. Just grab the knife and slit your wrists out of the insurmountable shame your parents are making you go through. They don’t get it. Humans don’t double marry. And how could they tell before you did, that this was a black thing in the first place? And why can’t they  _fucking stop trying to sell you like the smelly fish that_ _constitutes_ _this family’s fortune!_  Stop, just stop, please stop. Their words. Why won’t the words stop. 

“Karkat will be ready in no time to take the family business into the next level!” Said Menah. Please, someone make them stop. “He’s really something when it comes to creating plans and putting them into action.” That is true, Aranea, but stop anyway. “He’s also very good at commanding, taken froam my side, obviously” oh, great, now they are bragging as well. “Yeah, didn’t actually see all those sides of him since we met.” Strider retorts. Motherfucker. 

“You haven’t seen any sides of me since we met, Strider” _except maybe the ones where I scream at you, independently of being out of spite or out of fear of your decomposing figure_. 

“I have seen your pansy pianist side, which is already more than I’d like to have known.” He mocks, letting a smirk creep in his face. Remember the guitar strings? Fuck them. That gets the whole guitar and smashes it to the ground. 

Basically, you flip your shit. 

Standing, you gesture extensively, trying to get your point across his thick skull. “PIANO IS ART! IT’S HARD! IT'S DEMANDING, YOU SHIT FOR BRAINS! IT’S NOT SOMETHING JUST ANY JACKASS CAN SIT AND DO PROPERLY AND EXTENSIVELY! AND YOUR DISRESPECT AND SMALL MINDEDNESS IS SICKENING! DEPRESSING! AND FUCKING ENFURIATING! NOT ONLY GIRLS LEARN TO IMPRESS, EVERYBODY LEARNS TO IMPRESS, BECAUSE IT’S IMPRESSIVE IN THE FIRST MOTHE-BLITHERING-FUCKING PLACE!” You finish slamming both hand in the table with might, making the nutrition plateaus and silverware clatter. 

Everyone looks at you in awe. Of course, they do. You deflate from your rant buildup and exhales, siting back in the chair ready to hear Aranea school you into being politer to visitors, but instead, you hear both of your parent's snicker at the development. 

Dave as always, keeps a straight face. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

That question actually gets you off guard. 

You could lie. Or rant. Or just plain out ignore and curse. But you’ve dug your hole in this so deep already, that you’re not sure you care anymore. 

“Because it makes me happy” 

So, you tell the truth instead. 

“And after going to four funerals in a period of six months, gog knows I fucking need it.” You add, bitterly, exhausted, and hungry. Jegus, you’re hungry. 

A silence settles in at the mention of the death of your friends. Menah and Aranea look at you like they are trying to hug you with their eyes, and you roll your eyes, trying to convey you don't need their pity. 

The cook and maids finally arrive with the multiple dishes you and your parents ordered, setting them in the table along with the multiple wines and side dishes. You look desirably at the roasted pork, trying to actively avoid drooling. You fell something kick your leg lightly, ignoring it at first and putting your plateau up so the maid can put a big slice in it. When she’s finished, you thank her and, upon putting it down, you get a second, way harder, kick in the leg. You look to your guest and remember that the piece of shit has no digestion sack. FUUUUUUUCK. If he has to swallow anything, shits are going to start flying like winged oinkbeasts. And he is wearing your clothes, to make matters worse. 

The implications of what was about to happen were disastrous, to put it lightly. You definitely didn’t want to deal with that kind of bullshit. Or any kind of bullshit. But when was that ever a choice to be made? Never. That’s when. 

You try thinking about the assets in your respiteblock that could help in such a situation, and then an odd idea strikes: maybe a balloon could help? Or a bag of sorts. Just to keep the food stored as they pretend to dine. Maybe filled with maggots in order to fake digestion? Yeah. That could work. Gross idea, though. And you still would need to find an excuse to leave the table. Aranea is never going to let you hear the end of it if you just up and leave, and Menah is just going to laugh at your face endlessly, thinking you’re a looser for letting your alleged kismessis one-up you. 

He’s not even your kismessis, but if you try to convey that to them, it's possible they’ll just laugh harder at you. Either that, or try to play match maker, and you’re not so sure what would be worse. 

And then you think. 

Conclusion: 

The match making. 

Strider’s plateau was filled to the brim with the most diverse and rich types of food and realize that all of that will go to waste because of circumstance. Looking down at your plate you realize you only have that slice of pork that, now, to your connoisseur eye, seems dry, over roast and unappealing. That’d be way easier to clean from the inside of the button up shirt you gave him than the Aligot (which is just a French name to mashed potatoes with cheese) or the actually juicy pork piece they served him. So why not just change? 

“Hey, your own wedding is coming up, right?” ah, the good ol’ lie “You really shouldn’t eat all that if you want to fit your own suit when the time comes” Aranea places a hand on top of her mouth and Menah is biting her own lips, stifling her laughter. She ends up snorting and looking away from the action “Change your plateau with me” you offer knowingly that he has to accept, and when he does, he will admit being overweight “I have great metabolism” you lift your plateau. 

His face remains stoic, but the fists clench. He looks down at the food and you see his jaw tense. Then it relaxes. He lifts an eyebrow. Then put it down. “Yeah, okay. I rather have it medium rare rather than raw, anyway” he says lifting his own plateau. When you hold his in your hands, with a victory crooked smile plastered in your face, he lifts his side of the thing, and the burning hot food falls in your lap. 

You scream, getting up from your seat, throwing the source of your pain to the ground in fast movements and hearing the plateau clatter in the table. When you look at him, he is sitting with his back straight, proper silverware in hand, eating idly the meat you so thoughtfully provided him with. 

Remember the guitar? Imagine that it’s already destroyed, just like we left it last time. But someone decided it would be an amazing idea to hire a fat and presumptuous elephant to dance on top of it and smash it till its dust and nothing more. 

You grab the plate from your seat, turn 180 degrees to face the opposite direction of the table and, in a tantrum, throw it against the wall, smashing it in a million pieces. 

Defeated, hungry and humiliated, you leave the table to the chorus of giggles, snorts and barely stifled laughter. 

Pieces of hoofbeast shit. 

* * *

 

 ****You can’t keep it in anymore and starts snorting with a mean smirk in your face. Hand holding the fork trying to cover the evidence. The two ladies wait for Karkat to leave and just laugh without restraint. The three of you sit in silence after that, eating only, until the cerulean lady speaks up.

“Karkat mentioned you were going to get married. Who’s the lucky person?” 

The fuchsia lifts her glare from the piece of meat and directs it to you. You choke slightly, but will deny it to the end of your not-quite-life if anyone dares ask. Piece of shit left you a lap bomb. 

“The lucky person is all the other ladies in the world, obviously” but damn, if you’re not gonna use it like a firecracker worthy of the queen’s parade “because it’s not going to happen anymore. If I, the most perfect man in the whole world got married, who’d they swoon to? Who would make their miserable, lonely and useless lives worth living? Who would be their prince charming in the sappy romances they spend the hardly earned money their husbands bring home after staying the whole day in a fabric making plush toys for rich kids to barely make enough for a living. They will never have enough income to bring one to their own child's because their wives just can’t get enough of me” 

“So, who called it off, your family or hers?” the fuchsia lady deadpans. 

You start wondering about your engagement and all that Karkat said about Terezi using you. 

“I called it off” you say absentmindedly, holding the fork tighter between you middle, index and thumb fingers “realized it wouldn’t have been beneficial to either of us” you’re technically not lying, but you don’t have to tell the truth either. 

“So, your parents are not taking care of your wedding arrangements?” the cerulean lady asks surprised and continues “That is preposterous!” the fuchsia one chimes in “Ridiculous!” and the cerulean agrees “Absurd! You are young and easily impressionable, but with a bright future!” 

“So, you two are taking care of all the wedding shenanigans?” you ask incredulous. 

“Well, we are, but we have to admit the person shelly buoy chose to engage was a much betta choice than the person we had in mind” the fuchsia lady admits. The cerulean complements “She is so much more refined! So beautiful, and polite, and kind!” you think she wanted to marry that girl instead of facilitating Karkat’s engagement with her. The fuchsia lady adds “She’s talented too” ha! No one is as talented as you “She can sing” so can you “And dance” so can you “And paint the most beautiful landscapes” you like portraits more, but you can do that too “And just like Karkat her fondness is more partial towards meawbests rather than barkbeasts” what the? Wait. Are those “you mean she likes cats more than dogs?” you inquire “Yes. That is exactly what I said” yeah, you’re more of a dog person, even though your favorite animal has always been the crow. 

Ironic, to say the least, that they were the first to eat the flesh out of your bones.  You were expecting vultures to be the first. This melancholic train of thought is cut short by a comment you just couldn’t avoid snickering at. 

“It’s like she’s perfect” says the cerulean lady. 

“Was she raised in the Cavendish home? Or taught there?” you ask already knowing the answer. 

“Not foam what we know” admitted the fuchsia lady. 

“No one that never as much as stepped in the Cavendish home can be considered perfect. Perfection is our motto. We are the definition of perfection” you state, knowing it to be a true story. 

“You think of yourself as perfect?” asked the fuchsia lady. You raised to your feet, maintaining yourself in place, put a hand to the upper part of your chest and said “I know myself to be perfect, my ladies. I am the embodiment of every trait that makes up the perfect man”. 

“Like what?” the fuchsia lady asked, sarcasm seeping out of her every scrunched up facial bit, and voice. 

“Well, I can start by the fact [that](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1inVlR9Ews): 

 **DAVE:**  

No one’s slick as I am 

No one’s quick as I am 

All my beats are as incredibly as sick as I am 

For there’s no man in town half as manly 

Perfect, a pure paragon 

Go n’ ask that to John, Dirk or Roxy 

And they’ll tell you who’s team they prefer to be on 

 

No one’s been like I am 

A king pin like I am 

Or as swell, or as mighty and sharp like I am 

As a specimen, yes, I’m intimidating 

My, what a guy, that am I! 

 

Give five hurrahs! 

Give twelve hip hips! 

 

Cause I am the best 

And the rest comes in last! 

 

No one fights like I do 

Douses lights like I do 

In a wrestling match, nobody strifes like I do 

For there’s no one as burly and brawny 

As you see, I have got skills to spare 

Not a bit of me scraggly of scroungy 

 

That’s right! 

And every last inch of me screams “I don’t care” 

 

No one hits like I do 

Matches wits like I do 

Or can make up these endless refrains like I do 

I’m especially awesome a mindless rhyming 

 

 **MENAH + ARANEA:**  

Ten point for yourself! 

 

 **DAVE:**  

When I was a lad I had four dozen strifes 

Every morning to help me get might 

But now that I’m grown I have five dozen strifes 

So I’m roughly as skilled as a knight! 

 

No one dance like I do 

No one fence like I do 

No one can paint as freelance as I do 

I’ve got painting as all of my decorating! 

 

 **MENAH + ARANEA:**  

Say it again! 

 **MENAH:**  

Who’s the man among men? 

 **ARANEA:**  

Who’s the super success? 

 **MENAH:**  

Don’t you know? 

 **ARANEA:**  

Can’t you guess? 

 **MENAH + ARANEA:**  

Ask his fans and his five hangers on! 

 

 **DAVE:**  

I’m the one guy in town who’s got all of it down! 

And my name’s D-A-V-E 

You know what? 

My name’s too long for this kind of stunt 

And everybody knows it already so what’s the- 

 

 **KARKAT:**  

STRIDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!!! 

 

When Karkat screeches your name like you’re the cause of all of his problems and inner turmoil's, you almost fall from sheer surprise. The inside of the shirt is probably as dirty as the depths of your psyche, from how much you moved around during your little boisterous propaganda. Not that you mind much. By now, you’re used to sleeping with the maggots. They are nice company, despite what people think about their grossness. 

“Well, I think I have been summoned, so I should go, my ladies” you give then a flamboyant but minor bow as you leave “the dinner was as great as the company” you say before you rush out of the dining room and up the stairs, afraid of dislodging something that could accidently fall off in front of some living being in the case Karkat would dare pronounce your prideful surname in such unabashed heights again. 

Turning right, in order to go in the direction of the sound, you see Karkat crawl out of the shadows and feel him pin you against the wall, holding your arms with a death grip, talking in a husky whispery voice full of anger and a scowl so deep you could think he aged ten years in two minutes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, dipshit?” he says almost spitting in your ear with the last word “I know for a fact that you’re too inscrutably retarded to understand the nuance of every fucking shitty and despicable thing you just did, but let me get this in your thick skull: you fucked me over with your little boisterous gaudy self-indulgent show back there”. “Man, seriously. Fuck off. What do you have against my rhyming skills?”. “First and foremost, they are horrid. Your singing is like the sound of a strangled crow cawing for breath under the pressure of a hulky blueblood’s smelly foot, but even more important than that, now those two definitely think I’m-” he makes a hurl sound “- into you.” 

What. The. Fuck. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised, I’m just that good, but I’m not into you. I’m more of a lady's man, if you know what I mean” eyebrow wiggle “Quit the bullshit, Strider, I’m serious here” he closes his eyes tight “Whatever, man. What can they do?” when they open, he’s not looking at you, but to the depths of your soul “They can harass us, endlessly. After your tawdry performance in my nutrition block, they are absolutely certain you have black inclinations towards me, and we both know you couldn’t develop feelings for anything other than yourself even if that could bring your sorry excuse for a wastechute back to life”...he’s gotta be kidding... “You’re shitting me? Right? I’m not listening to this. Right?” a sigh escapes him “I wish I was or that you weren’t, cause it’s absurd in too many levels to even begin to comprehend” he finally let go of your arms, draws some steps back, puts his hand in his face and sighs louder “But what kind of harassment are we talking about?” the weight of your actions is starting to get noticeable. “It could be anything! They are cunning and meddlesome broads, and you just fueled their will to meddle further, you postulant asshole. They are probably planning, right now, how to make you get your pitch concupiscient hat on to get one of us to propose in a black manner to each other”. 

Wow. What the fuck. You though your guardian was crazy, but Karkats moms are insane. “Dude, I’m human. I can’t even hate-love someone. It’s unnatural for me. That shit’s not in my DNA. Like’ yeah, humans can totally hate-fuck and whatnot, but we can’t hate-love. For us, hate and love are literally opposing emotions, so like’ my greatest noooopes to whatever the fuck it is your sexy moms are going to try” he has indignation plastered all over his face “It’s not optional, you hiveshit crazy asshole. You think I wouldn’t go for that path as well? Get a hold of yourself, numbnuts, you’re dead. If I did have any kind of attraction to your decomposing figure, it’d be necrophilous, you insufferable prick” both of you cross arms in chest height, making an X sign and  _bleeeegh_ faces at each other. 

“Unrelated topic, my stomach needs a hand” you say, pointing to your torso. Karkat puts his tongue out in disgust, turns towards the general direction of his room and gestures for you to follow him, walking ahead with a posture of a seventy-year-old who spent his whole life working inside a mine. He passes by his room, and you’re a little surprised the both of you are not headed there, adventuring further down a hallway filled with propaganda of the Vantas business. They sell fish, crabs, oysters and general seafood. In a coast area like this town is, you suppose it makes sense why the Vantas business ascended to such high ranks of importance so quickly. 

Karkat stops, straightens, and turns to face you. “Waaaait a minute. You think my parents are sexy?”. “What?” where the fuck did that come from? “You said it, dipshit. You think my moms are sexy. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? Stop ogling my guardians!” he said opening a door in the wall to the right of the corridor. “I haven’t ogled anyone, what the fuck are you talking about?” you ask genuinely, mainly because, if you were to stare someone for an extended period of time, your shades would have definitely covered your eyes and said person would never get to know you were staring in the first place. He goes inside the room and you follow him “You said you think my parents are sexy. How the fuck would you even have drawn that preposterous and sickening conclusion if you weren’t using whatever it is that is behind those obnoxious garbage lenses you call glasses, to look in the general direction of said parents for long enough to, through the use of your obviously damaged brain functions, go down that train of thought?” he flicks a wall switch and nothing happens “AHHHH, garbage tits! Piece of shit equipment! Get to work, you lazy smoldering crap!” he goes thumping to a junction box in the corridor and starts messing around with some wires, plugging different colored cables left and right. 

The light inside the room flickers and then a blue-ish tone of it hits your sight. Now, with the lights on, you can see the room. The aesthetic matched the rest of the mansion in what the room would look like if naked: hard wood floor, high ceiling, a hideous wall paper. But it wasn’t naked. The furniture was, literally, all alien to your sight. In the back, a gigantic machine with thick, black wires plugged in a metal brick-like structure that had two discs moving in the front stood tall and menacing. Right in front of it, a tiny box in comparison, with black glass and a board with squared tiles was attached. To the right of all this monstrosity, a platform rose a spherical shape that was also plugged to the tiny box. What the fuck was all that? 

* * *

You bring Strider into the computer room. Fucking junction box had to be meddled with, so the energy necessary could be redirected to power this fucker. 

His human white eyebrows lift past the rim of the douchebag accessory. Wow, he is capable of emoting. Great first step towards normalcy, bulgemuncher.  

Although, you are not surprised he is surprised. Sollux assembled this monstrosity  _and_  taught you how to maneuver its intricacies. Mainly: lots of buttons to push. But first and foremost, getting this rumbus party started. You check all the cables to see if they are all correctly plugged in – no one wants a repeat of the last time, when you thought naively that all the wires were on the main hardware and, since one of the fuckers wasn’t, all that redirected current blew the whole room to shreds. You don’t even like to remember the incident because that brings memories of how mad Menah was with you for that month.  

They are all in. You make sure to triple check. 

“What does all this have to do with my stomach?” the prick asks. “Absolutely jack shit. But this is gonna take a while to boot, so I’m starting it now before we can take care of whatever the fuck is going on there” you gesture in the general direction of his torso, looking only slightly to him before going back to the display in search for the “on-off” button. You find it and press it. 

The main hardware shakes a bit and the front discs start spinning faster. In the meanwhile, you make sure to turn the water cooler on. More than once, Sollux’s spit was displayed all across your ugly mug from sheer rage about your incompetence in keeping shit together. You can still hear the asshole in your head 

  _how could you do_ _thith_ _to my_ _preciouth_ _baby! My legacy! Get your grubby hand off of my mind honey, you_ _athhole_ _!_  

Oh, yeah, that. You completely forgot that was a thing. The mind honey. Fucking mind honey. Where did you put it, now? That shit is essential for lubrifying the systems. Maybe that’s why the main hardware was making so much noise in the first place. 

“Hey, Strider, help me out here. I need you to find a jar with honey” you say. “Do I look like whinny-the-fucking-poo to you? Why would I know where to find honey? And I kind of have a situation of my own?” he says gesturing to his chest. You look at the display. Still booting. You look around. No honey in sight. Well, that shit ain’t getting rambunctious for real until some programming starts being done. You might as well solve this simple crisis first and deal with that later. “OKAY, FINE!” you say very loudly. You’re in your house. Everybody here knows you have no inner voice. It’s so reliving to not have to keep track of your tone. Just, let it flow, like a brick shower. “Get your fucking shirt off. I’ll see if I can find some rubber gloves in these drawers” Strider takes a step back and puts both hands in front of his body, in a  _keep away from me_ sort of position “Woah, there. There’s not gonna be any perfect body nudity in this place. Sorry to break it down to you, man, but I'm keeping my shit to myself until I get married”.  

You have an eye twitch and a scowl plastered all over your face. Fists clenched with claws piercing your skin. Oh, his face looks sooo punchable right now, with that cocky smirk lifting a side of his lips. “If you want me to help you, accept the help I’m providing, and stop making me want to make your existence harder than it is” you warn while still looking for gloves. Menah uses this room to storage goods she uses to administrate the fish empire. Gloves are a thing in here somewhere, for sure. You open a drawer and find a box of disposable gloves “AHA!”. 

“Find something useful?” 

When you turn to Strider, his suit and tie are draped over the back of a chair. He is unbuttoning his shit. Every. Single. Button. By. Mother. Fucking. Button. And you just can’t look away. You want to look away. You want to not notice the fact his heart doesn’t beat, that his defined pectorals don’t rise or fall, that only one of his arms is covered until the shoulder with even skin and muscles that delimitate his very prominent biceps, or that he absentmindedly purses his provocative lips when he’s focused.  _STOP_ _STARING YOU FUCKING FREAK!_ You try n’ tell yourself. Ha! Big fat chance. Like your present you have any respect for whatever it is that past you did or future you will have to do. You guess the only person that’s a bigger douche than you in this life is future you, and the dumber is past you.  

You put on the glove, letting the latex make the elastic noise when contracting back to grip your wrist. With the ungloved hand, you empty a bowl full of screws into an empty desk and look in his direction. He got the hand to cover the hole in his chest “You should probably be warned that, this here, is looking gross” he warned. “You’re a corpse that rose from the dirt, when I found you. What could be more vomit inducing than that?” you ask. He takes his hand from the front of his torso. You instantly regret asking, having to master your gag reflex in an attempt to avoid making the situation worse. “I told you so” the prick states with a shrug. 

You help him out, listening to the computer booting system and main hardware, afraid to miss the window of opportunity where you could input the code to make that aberration run faster. When you hear the sound you were waiting for, you push Strider closer to the keyboard of the computer “type the number 2 in this thing. My hands are dirty from helping you”  

“I’m not touching this. I don’t even know what it is” 

 “It’s a computer, douchebag. Sollux assembled it out of junk, which is really impressive. Now, type the fucking two in the keyboard, or else the hardware is going to overheat and I won’t be able to do what I need to do!” you order him kind of desperate he will miss the window”  

“Bossy much for someone asking a favor?” 

  “If you don’t press that shit, RIGHT NOW, it’s going to fucking explode. And I’m using your sorry excuse of a body as a human shield, SO JUST DO AS I SAY!” 

He does as you told him to and the computer starts to run the application codes for a comprehensible interface. You thank Sollux every day for that, because he could use the unintelligible interface this machine has, but you sure as fuck couldn’t. And in order for you to use it, he programmed an interface.  Now the computer was showing a blue background with a “fade in” picture of a honeycomb. The sound of the machine starts to get more rambunctious and you remember: you need the fucking mind honey to lubrify this shit ASAP.  

You walk over to the trash bin, dump the chewed meet and take off your gloves “The application is running, but there is still something that can blow. You need to help me find a think called “mind honey”. It’s a powerful lubricant for this, and I know you can hear that the machine’s running. Well, good news and bad news, fucker. That means its running, which is good. That also means it’s out of lubricant, which, guess what, IS FUCKING AWFUL”. He gives you a smirk “Aw, man, how come you stick your grubby, long and trained fingers all over my hole and doesn’t even tell me there’s lube around”. Your peripheral blood forgets whatever it was doing and decides your cheeks are a priority. You get angry by such development “MAYBE ITS BECAUSE YOUR HOLE WAS SO BIG IT DIDN’T NEED ANY IN THE FUCKING FIRST PLACE, STRIDER! I WAS LITERALLY KNUCKLES DEEP INSIDE YOU! NOW QUIT IT WITH THE SASS AND HELP ME FIND THE MIND-FUCKING-HONEY!” you say throwing his own sass back at him. The piece of shit. “YOU LOOK IN THOSE CABINETS AND I WILL LOOK IN THOSE ONES” you just keep on shouting, kind of commanding and kind of desperate at the same time. He finds the mind honey. You snatch It from his hand, climb a ladder to reach the top if the hardware, and... You can’t unscrew the lid. You try harder, but when you do manage, the pot slips from your tight grip, and goes diving into the floor.  

Luckily, someone else dove in for a sweet catch – not that you are ever telling him that – and managed to avoid a disastrous scenario. You take the pot, toss him the lid and dumps a good amount of the thing in the main engines. A couple seconds later, the most prominent sound in the room is your sigh of pure and unrestrained relief. You toss him the mind honey as well. With both pieces in hand, he screws the pot back “All that desperation for that?” he asks. “Yeah” you answer flatly, slumped in the steps of the metal ladder. Gosh, you’re so tired and so hungry and so sick of having to run around like a maniac to get shit done. “Not gonna further elaborate then?”. You don’t really want to. Presently, you just want your bed. But you decide that at least, speaking will keep you awake. “That -” you point to the bomb “ is the bomb I told you about” he looks at it from a closer distance, as if inspecting “The one that will curse the guy that murdered me, forever?” oh, so he was paying attention “Yeah” you don’t elaborate much at first, but a little bit of exposition of the whole thing could help you get your bearings, motivations and energy back, and for Jegus and all that is holy, you need some energy. 

 “You see, Sollux is a genius at computers and programming. He never liked nor disliked Gamzee. He actually created this with its intended purpose being to curse Eridan to have all relationships he ever had, failed and withered and dead. It worked. And everybody was surprised” you get down from the steps of the ladder and go to the front of the computer screen “Word amongst our group got out about what happened” you start spinning the cue ball in the compact keyboard to see if the selection arrow is working “Terezi and Gamzee used to be kismisses. She was obsessed with laws and justice, and him, with sopor slime. From sheer persistence she got him to sober up and he got her to get a twisted sense of justice about shit. Vriska, who used to be Terezi’s moirail, realized that and in a feud, her and Terezi fucked each other out. In the completion of that shit, they realized they had been thrown against each other. Gamzee had armed a plan for Terezi to break up with him and start this whole thing with Vriska, letting him free to worship his evil gods more than ever. I was his moirail while he and Terezi were kismisses. He broke up with her and I with him. From that point forward, he went rampant. Nobody could keep tabs on him anymore” you dwell on it for a second or two “Not even me”. You select the ATH. Application in your screen and wait for it to open “Obviously, they both got pissed at him, and since they are the fucking scourage sisters, the most wicked and cunning bitches in this town, they came up with a plan to fuck him over and backwards. I had no arguments to defend him anymore. No one had. So, the both of them asked Sollux for help to create a curse code worse than death” you double click the scourge code and give him some space to see it. 

“Well, what does it say?” he asks. “It’s blank, dipshit” you say and he looks at you “And how come is that a thing?” you shoo him away of the front of the screen “That’s because Gamzee found out about the code and deleted it” you answer and add “That is when he learned Sollux was involved, and killed him. Eridan got wiped for being a witness. He was in Sollux’s house that day for a discussion about how to break the ATH. Curse” ironic, you suppose. You close the scourage tab and click the FUCKHIMOVER ATH. file and while it opens, you continue “There are two computers currently in town with the capability to produce an ATH. Curse. This one, that he actually assembled for me to calculate shit for the family business, and his own. Which he also assembled, but is unbelievably small. Maybe the size of a shoe box. I buried with him when he died. Didn’t want no fucking clown with this kind of power in his hands” the file opens and, this time, all the letters are there. This here’s almost done. You remember Sollux talking shit about your file in the Down n’ Under, but can’t for the life of fuck know if he was telling you the truth or not. “Makes sense” Strider agrees with your statement and asks “So, why did we come here in the first place? And if you have all this planned out already, why do you need my family’s welsh sword, man?” 

You start typing the codes you remember having written in paper, back in your respiteblock “Because I don’t want him to just suffer physically, Strider. I want to injure him morally. I want him to spend the rest of eternity wallowing on his mistakes to his friends and to himself. I want him to see he was wrong, understand and regret everything. I want him to cry out of the exact same kind of despair he made me go through. Terezi wanted your sword because she though it would bring justice, pure and unadulterated, since it’s supposed to be a sword that has the capacity to slain evil” okay, almost finished typing shit in “My reasons are less honorable, I’m well aware of it, but he hurt a lot of people, me included. I deserve just as much justice as everybody else” you finish typing it in and set the code to be compiled and uploaded into the bomb. You turn around to look at the corpse. 

“I set the fucker to compile. It should be a while until it finishes, but all the systems are running properly. After it finishes compiling, we are going into the Cavendish Home to get your sword” you say. 

He is tense. Arms crossed in his still naked chest. Hands clenched tight inside the leather gloves. He’s looking down, but lifts it to face you. “Thank you. For telling me the truth” he says. “It doesn’t really matter, none of that concerns you anyway. I was more trying to keep myself awake and motivated than anything” you are surprised when he denies your statement “That’s bullshit, of course this concerns me. I died because of that. Because of friends that didn’t think that letting me in the loop would be beneficial. I died because people were lying to me all the time. So, yeah, I appreciate it when people tell me the truth and are straight forward with me” he says with a perpetual stony face, but you realize his hands are relaxed now, much like his shoulders. It’s like he’s at ease. Relaxed. You might be overthinking this. 

You look back at the screen. Less than 30% completion. Mother fucker. This shit is going to take ages to compile. You sigh, frustrated at this development and looks around the block. Everything seems to be in place. “Let’s leave this feculent pile of crap be. It needs to compile and all that shit. Staying in here ain’t gonna do jack shit for our cause” you say, crossing the room. “Dude, I can’t go around like this” he says. “Stay in here. I’ll lend you another shirt. Although, since you are going to sleep here, I think I’ll lend you pajamas, instead. More inconspicuous” you think out loud. “You sleep in pajamas?” he asks “Don’t you?” you ask back “No, ‘course not” 

 “What do you sleep in?” 

 “Currently? Whatever’s on the bod. When I was alive? In the B day suit” 

You can’t hold back your surprise, letting your eyes get as open as they can and your eyebrows as high as they can. Holy shit, he slept naked. “Strider, you are sleeping in my house. In my respiteblock. You are NOT going to sleep naked” you say with finality. “Wait wait wait wait. This place is huge, why would I sleep in your bedroom?” 

Oh, fuck. You really don’t want to have to explain about that one block to anyone. Actually, you wish you could forget that one existed altogether. 

Why is it always your guardians to get you into this kind of embarrassing situation? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song of the chapter is "Gaston" from The Beauty and The Beast. I made the alterations, and you put the link in the chapter, but if you want to hear the original, here's both: the 1991 and the 2017 versions.
> 
> 1991:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVdgaSuAjII  
> 2017:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F16O5OAK2K8


	6. Despite The Spite I Spit - part ll

You are Dave strider, and, weirdly, you feel at ease.

It’s a strange feeling. One you’re not really familiar with. He told you everything without you having to pry it out of him like you usually have to with your other friends. The feeling is extremely reminiscent of being around John. How your conversations would flow and his obliviousness to things would only make it more interesting and entertaining. Obviously, Karkat wasn’t oblivious to anything, he knew a lot, which made the fact that he was willing to share that knowledge with you even more surprising. He was, actively, trying to insert you in the loop. He even told you his motivations. Was he trusting you? You think you might be overthinking this.

But even at ease you are still weirded out by the fact that, apparently, you and Karkat are going to have to sleep in the same room. The troll puts one hand on the doorknob and the other in his face, getting a little flustered after you ask why you and him have to share the bedroom, even if this place is huge.

“Listen carefully, you obtuse flasher, cause I’m not going to repeat myself later” oh, c’mon, that’s not fair. You’re not showing anything he doesn’t have and, you can’t put your shirt back. The feeling of nakedness is not pleasing when there’s another set of eyes in the immediate vicinity of your body, but you’re doing your best to cover all possible awkward parts, for example, your nipples. You make sure to adjust your arms to cover them better, feeling even more self-conscious “In this side of the stairs there is my respiteblock, the laboratory and the common ablutionblock. In the other side of the stairs, there is Menah’s office, their respiteblock and well... what was supposed to be a guest respiteblock. What you need to know is that, nothing in it is set to accommodate people anymore. There is no bed, or wardrobe, or nightstand or fuckery of the sort. You better believe when I say you’re better off sleeping in the ground of my block than there, bulgemuncher”. Oh, so he isn’t going to tell you what that room has? “You’re not going to tell me what it is that you’re hiding in the broom closet, man? That’s no fair. You know about one of the most important possessions of my family and won’t even tell me what the fuck you guys hide in the broom closet?” the memory of him getting flustered for a second surfaces in the front of your mind “It’s indecent, isn’t it?” you push. He looks quickly in your direction with wide eyes and a frown. Jackpot. A smirk creeps in your mouth ”Holy shit! You guys have an entire room dedicated to your weird coital bucket shit?” “SHUT UP! YOU DON’T KNOW JACK SHIT AND I DON’T HAVE TO STAY HERE AND HEAR THIS PILE OF VILE BILE THAT YOU’RE PUCKING THROUGH YOUR LIPS RIGHT AT MY HEARINGSPONGES!” pile of vile bile. You are, so, using that later.

Karkat turns the lock, pushes the door, but the door doesn’t budge. He tries again. And again. And again. He tries pushing to pull. He tries turning the knob with one hand and pushing with the other. He tries turning with one hand and shouldering the door. Oh, fuck. You guys are trapped. Karkat takes the hand off of the knob and, with one fisted hand, starts banging on the door “MENAH! ARANEA! SOMEONE, FOR FUCK SAKE, GET ME OUTAHERE!”

 “Hey, let me try” you offer. He gets out of the way to stand close to a desk that had its surface covered in screws. You step away from the door to give yourself some running space.  Then, you run, jump sideways and, with both legs, gives a flying kick in the door. Since it doesn’t budge, nor break, your knees bend, and when you extend your legs to impulse your body, you end up making a roll and, ultimately lending on your feet.

You hear a loud sound of things hitting the floor, and then a pained yelled curse from Karkat. Upon standing up, you look at his hunched back, giving a step in his direction and subsequently asking “Dude, are you okay?” he answers immediately “DON’T COME ANY CLOSER” you continue, ignoring his warning. He’s always screaming for nothing, anyway. “C’mon, man, let me see-” he startles you by giving you a roar that fades to a growl. His head turns, showing all of his very sharp teeth and deep scowl. This time, he says it in a steady tone “I said, don’t come any closer”. The troll doesn’t take its eyes from you until you’ve given three steps back with your hands up. After you’ve done so, his face becomes one of pain, before he turns his head and you can’t see his expressions anymore. Well, shit. He’s like a wounded animal. Like he wasn’t like an angry animal before all of this. He is pretty useless wallowing in pain, though.

You decide to go around the back and seek out the discarded shirt he lent you. When found, you crouch in front of it, rips both sleeves and go to Karkat’s balled body, stepping loudly so that he knows the forthcoming approach of someone is happening. When you get about five steps away from him, he lifts his face and roars until it fades into a growl again, showing you all of his predatory features. His eyes are dangerously close to fury orange, his body tense, his growl deep, steady and predatory with showing all of his very sharp teeth, his scowl deep and temples showing facial veins. His only altered feature in his attempt at scarring you is his face. The body doesn’t move an inch, like its protecting something. From the position and previous noise, you can gather he hurt his hand in a lose screw.

Keeling down, your mouth starts running “Karkat, it’s just me. You know I’m not gonna hurt you” he doesn’t sound appeased “If you come any closer, bulgemuncher, I will figure out a way of killing you a second time” he says and goes immediately back to growling at you. Huff. This is gonna be fun. “C’mon, let me help you” you show him the cut sleeves. The growling fades with the orangeness of his sclera and the veins in his temples. Still scowling and all teeth, you notice. “Leave the sleeves and go check the fucking compiling percentage on the computer. Tell me what the fucker is, and keep telling me as it goes up. Only come back when I say you can. Have I been retardedly clear?”. Oh, man. This guy has issues. Why is it everything since you died had to become  _an_ _issue._ You hate that. Everyone has zero chill for anything. But fine, if it will get you out of this place any faster, fine.

Painfully slow, you place the sleeves into the ground, turn around and head to the monstrosity that he referred to as a  _computer._ What the ever-loving fuck? You walk towards it anyway, standing in front of the screen display were you previously saw what he referred to as  _code_. In there, you see a long but thin rectangle, being slowly filled with other minor, green and tiny rectangles. On the side of all that, a written percentage. 45%. “How much is it at?” he asks. “45 percent” you answer back. “Keep looking at it and telling me when the percentage goes up” he orders. “Alright” you oblige, complementing “it’s at 50 percent, now”. You start counting in your heard, trying to entertain yourself, ultimately concluding that, for this thing to finish  _compiling –_ whatever that means – it's gonna take at least about two hours.

“Okay, I’m all set. And I have an idea, but I need you to not be incompetent with a knife for it to work. Can you manage that?” the troll questions. “If it’s in my hand and it’s sharp, you better believe it’s deadly to everyone but me” you say, finally turning to face a normal Karkat again. He used both cloths in his hand: one to stop the bleeding and the other to hold the first one in place. His hand clenches in a tight fist, which he doesn’t relax right after. He was not testing for pain. He was making sure to hold everything in place.

You can’t stop yourself from feeling a little betrayed and slightly more stupid than usual. Thinking the best of people is not your usual go-to, but for some reason, your stupid brain jumped the gun, admitting this guy was telling you everything. Now you are sure he is not. And not only that: fucker showed his teeth to you. If he was your dog, you sure as fuck would grab that fucker by the neck and rub its nose in its own piss. You’re not one to take this kind of shit from people. He’s lucky you’re not alive anymore, or else you would show him who’s boss.

“OH! So you are capable of emoting!”

You are thrown off of your thoughts with heart wrenching force and look at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” you ask and he answers “You’re frowning, dipshit”, he stands from behind the desk and pierces a knife in the table. And then you realize you are, indeed, frowning. You down your poker face again. “You know, you should probably emote more. It makes you look...alive” he rubs it in. Off course he would rub it in. You make sure not to emote. “And just so you know, I told you my parents where meddlesome. This-” he says gesturing to the room “ is exactly the kind of shit those two would pull”. 

“I hear a lot of useless facts and no suggestions on how to get out of here” you say matter-of-factly and grab the knife, prying it off the table. “I do have a plan” he starts and gestures with his good hand for you to follow him. He let’s his back exposed while walking to the door. You grip the handle of the knife tighter and it feels... all kinds off wrong.      

First and foremost, you’re not a knife user. Your weapon is the sword. Second, why did all those thoughts cross your mind? You wouldn’t ever murder anyone in cold blood, much less this guy. And you were comparing him to a dog? Who does that? And no shit he would show his teeth at you. He was wounded and felt trapped in this room with a guy he knows tree things about: he’s an undead with a broken heart who is way too good looking and agile and has a little sword addiction.

The back of your head feels eyes staring at you. You hold the knife like you would your sword and look up to the wall to see an empty ventilation system. You’re pretty sure it just got vacant.

“Hey, retarded monkey, I need you to stop drifting through the endless space in your head and focus” Karkat calls. “Yeah, yeah, Vantas, are you ready to finally say something useful?” you walk over “Everything you get out of me is useful, since your underdeveloped monkey thinkpan can’t even grasp the marvels of the space conquering troll civilization. Humans should thank us and worship us like gods” you ignore him. It’s not him, anyway. You can literally feel it in your bones. The poisoning influences. You look back at the vent, comes off with nothing and looks at him “Then tell me, oh, great, developed  _bug,_ what is it that I should do?” shit. You’re doing it too. You look back. In your guts you know that it’s there. But nothing could prove it. You look back at Karkat “First: fuck off with that attitude. Following that, you should unscrew the door hinges with the knife and then kick it open by that side”. “That’s...actually a good idea” you realize, unable to restrain an expression of surprise.

He seems surprised by your validation and painfully tries to play it cool and dismiss it. “Pff, yeah, no shit, sherlock” he quotes back at you. Almost endearing. In a way a bear attempting a hug with a human would seem, right before the Bears paws, filled with strength and claws, would accidentally end up mauling the poor human. So, point for trying, you guess.

But it’s not nearly as much as you deserve. You’re perfect. He should reverence even the slightest validation coming from you.

You look back at the vent. Still nothing to see, but you know.

“I keep watch on it and you focus on unscrewing the hinges” Karkat says. “What?”. “Strider, I’m not oblivious. You’ve been looking at that fucking vent from 5 to 5 minutes. And... I can feel it too”. Your whole-body changes to face him instead of just your head. “You can?”. “Yes. And It’s fucking unsettling” he answers “Just focus on the screws. I’ll cover for you” he positions himself between you and the vent, arms crossed in his chest, bodyguard stile. Before turning to unscrew the hinges, you notice he has way broader shoulders than you though he had. Memories run through you mind and you realize he hunches all the time, but upright like he is, he looks like a wall of fury and determination.

Heh.

You can get behind that.

**________________________________________**

Why did you say those things? Obviously, trolls the superior species, but telling him outright that he should reverence you as his god? You cringe a bit, still not taking your sight off of the vent. The creepy emanates from it, you realize.

This is chucklevoodoos. You have no doubt. But Gamzee wouldn’t even dare try and come to your place. Your guardians know about what happened and Menah would use her culling fork to cull the fuck out of him. How come he’s using his chucklevoodoos in you? Unless he is not here, but something is amplifying his abilities enough for his influence to be able to affect you.

He always had trouble controlling his powers, even when you were moirails, but it didn’t affect you so bad. You have a natural resistance to mind-controlling powers, probably because of the blood you share with humans. Some things are more effective in humans like teleknisis and psiionic prowess, but humans are not particularly susceptible to chucklevoodoos or panwashing. But this kind of mind influence doesn’t seem to influence fear alone. It foments hate, combines it with fear and fucking sprinkles paranoia on top like a shitty topping for an ice cream sundae of hoofbeast shit.

With alert hearingsponges you notice that Strider just removed the first hinge off of the door. Your focus can’t weaver, even if this might take a while, you need to keep yourself between the chucklevoodoos and a deadly undead with no blood to protect his rotting pan from the constant exposure.

The deadly undead who, after you got hurt, promptly tried to help you by bringing bandages. And you fucking roared at him. Great. Now, not only you loathe yourself because – and let’s be honest – who the fuck slams his hand in a table full of scattered screws?! Past you is even more of an idiot than you initially thought. But you also loathe your present self because the one person – can you even call him human? Maybe individual? You don’t fucking know – that tried to help you got your full dental arch shoved in his face.

You cringe. You should probably apologize for that.

“How’s it going with the hinges?” you ask him. “Dealing with it. Second one coming right off”. “And how many more of these little shits you’re gonna have to twist your wrist around until we can leave?” “Twist my wrist? Did you get inspired by my singing? Or you are just like’ a shitty mother goose and always speaks in rhymes?” “Fuck off. I was close enough to the nutrition block to hear you pride yourself in rhyming like some kind of wiggler schoolfeeder” “But that’s just ‘cause my rhyming is sicknasty, tasty and classy” you hear another hinge go off. God, he’s good at coming up with rhymes at the fly, but his metaphors? Barely better than Tavros and you will not even think about Gamzee.

You notice that he unscrews the hinges at a rhythm, always twisting at the same pace. And you are not leaving this place until that door is off the hinges, and even then, there’s no way you’re leaving that bomb in there. And just for good measure, you’re going to bolt this fucker shut when you leave. Might even blow the machine purposefully. You just hope that whatever trick that freak clown used, it didn’t let him hear about the computer you buried. You might have to make a run for it now, but digging your dead friend’s grave sounds like an awful and dreadful idea, to say the least. Also, you absolutely cannot let an opportunity to roast Strider slip by your fingers, regardless of how uncoordinated you might be, you still can’t let someone call his own rhymes  _sicknasty_. And since he’s already providing the beat to his own demise, you might as well take the bait and deliver it to him. “If someone like you can call his rhymes sicknasty it’s no wonder they make me wanna hurl. Grow a pair of shameglobes and own it that you’re sick, twisted and dull. For this troll right in front of you just might serve your second sweet demise with his viciously vivid verbose vocabulary with which he curses all the time. You tawdry moron, get in gear, make sure to hear, but fret not cause I’ll be clear. I’ll make your solid self-sense of perfection completely disappear, you hear?” the sound of a hinge falling from the door. 

He starts right back again “Holly shit man. You can rhyme. I can’t back down from this battle time. It’s on now, so you better watch out, cause I’m Dave Strider, King of rap battle town. You want me to hear? You say you’ll be clear? Fuck with all that, my perfection could inspire fear. It’s indisputable, irrefutable, inscrutable, inescapable and unpollutable. You just dug your grave. How does that feel? You’re already at a loss against me and I ain’t even started getting real”

“Getting real? You? Like that’s a plausible true. You’re a broke fucking joke, delusional with self-grandeur. Call yourself a might slick knight, but got run right through by the club of a crazy, high and murderous Juggalo. Is that your broken ego that I hear, fucker? Getting handed back to you in a fucking gold and silver plateau?” that was the last hinge. He stands, taps your shoulder. “We’re ready to bounce, the job is finished at last. But that one hurt me man, right here in my chest” he points to his naked torso where he got busted by the club. The burst of laughter that comes out of your mouth at the self-depreciation joke has to be smothered, but you make the mistake of trying to do that with your dominant hand, you know, the one you sent palm first into scattered screws because you’re a dumbass? Yeah. That was a mistake.

Cursing under your breath and pressuring your hand against your torso so it stops hurting, you hunch back to your usual walking cycle and direct yourself to the computer screen. 100%, thank FUCK! You can take the bomb and that crazy face-painted fucker is gonna have to fondle his shameglobes in shame of being a useless piece of shit. Suck that!

The thin cable that connects the sphere-like-object to the computer is unplugged by your functional hand that subsequently, grabs the bomb and feels its weight. Its heavy, but what were you expecting? “You can kick the SHIT out of that door, now” you instruct the corpse and seconds later, hear a loud sound that is presumably the result of  _door, meet foot_  and they hated each other so much that their make out session ended up with foot being a little hurt and disappointed and door having a black eye and a vengeance plan.

Much like you.

Your bruised hand still has fingers in working order, so you use them to type a couple basic codes and input a password in the machine. You know just the perfect one. After that, you turn the whole monstrosity off and stick your injured hand in your pocket, tuning to see Strider, already in the outside, shades fixated in the vent system. He’s covering for you, thank fuck. You rush past him “Man, what now?” he asks not moving his head even in the slightest. “Now, the plan is to seal this fucker so shut It’s going to look like the Holy Mary’s vagina before Jesus came barging and made a mess of her insides and the whole word outside” you look at him, seeing if he agrees with the plan and see his mouth twitch upwards, like he’s trying to contain a smile.

Inside that room you saw him scowl and worry and focus, outside, in the grand saloon, you saw him smirk and boast, but in the back of your head, after seeing that mouth twitch, you want to break his poker-face with the most blissed laughter, just like he did in the piano back in the land of the dead. Why? Out of spite, of course. He keeps insisting on using that poker-face like all of his problems will melt away if he insists enough, even if he looks a lot better being expressive. And by  _a lot better_  you mean  _waaaay_ _less dead._ Why in all fuck would you think he looks good? That’d make no fucking semblance of sense. You are not a necrophilous pan-damaged weirdo. Nuh uh. You are sane. You are imposing. You are powerful and influent. What is he in comparison to you? Everybody can have smooth skin if bathing in mud like a wiggly glistening worm every day for a while. Or a broad chest, if enough fucks were given to start push-ups series every day. Or probably pillowy lips, if you cared for them instead of removing the dried-up bits that surge every now and then. Or.... shit. You are officially noping the shit out of this train of thought right the fuck now.

“Listen, I’m going to find a hammer, some hopefully less than rotten wood planks and some nails. I’ll be back in a bit. If anything comes out of that room, stab it until is so thoroughly perforated and dead it could give a person trypophobia”

“Holy shit. Can’t play on duty with officer Vantas back sit driving this waggon with his iron whip like I’ma fucking husky and you’re Santa-fucking-Claws. Rawr” he actually gives you a sheepish roar and makes a claw motion with his hands. And his metaphor had so many layers of other metaphors and references to shit, you can’t even begin to comprehend a tenth of what the bulging fidgety fuck he’s talking about. So, instead of giving any acknowledgement to whatever it was he was trying to convey as a message you groan as loudly and frustratedly as you can muster. This guy is going to melt your pan into a gross mix of apple-juice-like-piss, mashed potatoes and sticky molasses. 

Great.

Just what you wanted.

Fuck that guy.

You are refusing to think of the implications of your last thought. You are thinking about potatoes and molasses and piss, because yes, that is a much better mental image to have.

**________________________________________**

Karkat just went on his way to get stuff to lock this shit tighter then the Holy Mary’s vagina – the guy can come up with the best of the worst metaphors - and you’re waiting for him to come back because you were assigned a mission: not take your eyes of the vents and stab anything that threatens to come forward. Easy enough. You’re good at stabbing shit, though your proficiency lies with slicing.

Why do these guys even have vents? What’s the fucking point of having this be the one part of the house with a functioning ventilation system? Why not just wrap the entire house with it? 

You remember Karkat calling this place the lab. Well, if it’s a lab, it makes sense that experiments would be done and then a vent makes total sense. Suck the bad out of the work station.

Bet the people that installed it never thought that the thing supposed to take the bad out would end up becoming what would let the bad in. All kinds of ironic, if you’re honest.

The blade twitches in your hand, and you have a realization: you are alone with it. Slowly it dawns that, in this dark hallway with too many doors, too many portraits and too straight exits there is only you, it, and the blade in your hand. You can take him now, you tell yourself. Of course you can. You trained relentlessly. You could take down whole armies because of the sheer amount of prowess your Bro imbued on you. You could take the shit out of it, no questions asked. Ha. You’re awesome. Even dead you manage to still be perfect. You can totally take him, right? Yeah. Right. With a sword in your... It’s not. It’s not your weapon. This shit feels wrong in your hand. Too short. Too light.

_What have I_ _told_ _you about getting weapons_ _that aren’t at least half your_ _height_ _? If you keep pulling shit like that, more wounds like that are_ _gonna_ _keep popping up on you, kiddo. Now c’mon. Let’s see what miss paint can do about that._

_But, Bro, they’re heavy._

_It’s a broadsword, Lil’ man. You have to use both hands to_ _wield_ _it. They’re supposed to be heavy, and long. You only got smacked because you didn’t reach me first. Now c’mon, quit winning._

You can still take him, right? He’s unarmed and vesseless. Yeah. If he tries any shit you just make swiss cheese out of it, like Karkat told you. He trusted you could do it. He thinks you can do it. You can’t prove Karkat wrong in this. You need to rub your battle prowess in his face.

He trusted you, right? But, he’s not here right now. He’s going to come back, though. He would not leave you in this position forever. Would he?

You don’t know. You don’t know if he would.

Nah, he had your back inside the room. Why would it be any different now. Except that this is his house. He knows all the ins and outs. How come he didn’t know It was there.

He knew. The only explanation possible is that he knew.

Who cares? Fuck that. He’s vesseless.

 But he did skedaddle on you. Left you alone with it. You shouldn’t be getting so freaked out by it. You’ve dealt with it before. Bro has dealt with it before, that’s why he’s vesseless...Hasn’t he? Yeah, he has. Right? There’s no vessel for it. Right?

When did Bro deal with it?

Did he deal with it?

Why can’t you remember?

But it was Bro. He sure dealt with it.

But if so, why can’t you remember?

Why can’t you remember?

Did he deal with it?

Everything creaks. 

Your gaze is there, unwavering, but you’re not looking anymore. Your focus is in every little thing around. Every little sound. The wind. The creaks of wood. Your breath. Your heartbeat. Why are you breathing? Why can you hear a heartbeat? You don’t have either, right? Then where does it come from? It can’t come from the vents. You know, it, all too well. It, has no such thing. But you’re alone. Alone, right? Wasn’t there supposed to be someone else here with you? You can’t remember. Was there? You don’t think so. Yeah. No. You’re alone. Alone with it, just like when you were younger. But how is it here? Bro dealt with it. He did. Didn’t he?

 Didn’t he?  Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he?  Didn’t he?  Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he?  Didn’t he?  Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he?  Didn’t he?  Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he?  Didn’t he?  Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? Didn’t he? 

The sounds get louder and louder.

You turn crookedly. You can’t quite feel all of your joints. It’s like they haven’t been prompted into action. It’s the hand with the knife. In a swopping motion, you aim it at something very soft, pressing the blade lightly and seeing it dip, ever so slightly, in grey skin.

You hear things falling onto the wooden floorboard.

You can’t find it in yourself to care.

You still feel disjoint.

And empty.

A trickle of red goes down that soft soft mortal skin into your skin.

Your hand stops dead in its tracks. 

And you think It’s beautiful. And pure. And artistic.

And you look up to see wide and terrified eyes. Sweet, huge, red irised and horrified.

And you get afraid yourself. Of yourself. That’s the face he’s making at you.

“It ain’t me” you start “I can’t move” you state “please” you plead “I don’t wanna”

He swallows, pushing the blade forward. You try to comply. Shakely, he extends a hand at the direction of your temple, covering one of your ears and making all your senses for that side of your body reactivate, like a switch. That hand shoots for him, desperate like a shipwrecked for drinkable water, and dragging your body with it in his direction. You manage go get enough of your will back, and drop the knife. He holds your hunching form and you don’t know what you’re talking. Is a garbled mess of “I didn’t wanna”, “He didn’t”, “It wants a vessel”, “I couldn’t stop”, “I couldn’t think”. He’s trying to soothe you in shaky hands and hushed voice. Saying he’s here. Saying nothing’s gonna get you. Saying it’s going to be okay.

You are not gonna cry, or be sad, too scared to anything other than try and calm down at the things he’s saying.

They do soothe you.

Even if you don’t believe a single word.


	7. Tossing And Turning In The Dark Of The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who want to hear the original:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mObJOxsXj74

You bolt the door shut and refuse to think about the fact that Strider almost made you as dead as he is. 

Potato, piss and molasses. Potato, piss and molasses. Potato, piss and molasses. 

Nothing can get to your mind other than the mush, because if you do let your thoughts run free, you acknowledge he almost killed you. He drew blood from you. And yet, he is as scared as you are. 

After the shock, he clung onto you, trembling like a twig in the wind. Not much better, you let him. Better have both of his hands dirtying your suit, but clinging to it like the raft in a storm then white-knuckled around the grip of a blade. 

When the trembling subsided, you got to work, grabbing the planks and hammering them into the doorframe. Still, the influence wasn’t physical, so you had a brilliant idea that you had no clue how to explain later to neither Aranea nor Menah, but it would still be better than letting Strider roam around the house empty and murderous. Man, you hate Gamzee. Chuclevoodoos are objectively the worst power. The only good thing that came out of your moiraleigence is that you know you’re immune because of your mutant blood. Which you’re going to have to smear all over the door. Well, at least you have a bunch of cuts and bruises to use as painting source. 

You get your good hand and clamp it above the neck cut, trying to get it dirty and slow the bleeding down. With the blood all over your palm, you run fingers on the bolted boards fixated on the door frame, then clamp that hand down on the cut again and turn to see Strider sitting with a blanc expression, looking you work with a bent-up leg and a hand draping from it. The knife is stuck in the floor, midway between you and him. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to-” he started, but you cut him off “Shut up”. There are more pressing matters. “I don’t know where they are, but I can’t stay floundering around like a stupid cockroach with two sources of blood in case they come back”. 

“In case who comes back?” he asks. “My parents.” You say. “Why not? What’s wrong? Your moms are gonna take care of it, right?”. Why would he think that? “Ha! If they found out I bleed like a filthy human, Menah would actually cull me, shitsponge” you give away “which is the reason that, if anyone asks, the blood in the door is yours and not mine. Do you understand?” 

He stays still for a couple of moments, processing your words and then he complies “Yes, captain.” He says, emotionless. The corpse looks at the blade and then at you “I think you should probably take it.” Unable to find in yourself a reason to deny that statement, you kick it out of the standing position it had and take it with the bandaged hand. Opening it up stings a little, but closing it around the hilt makes it comfortable again. You can see a little bit of your blood in the blade, and the fear and dread of the possibility of dying returns to you. You look away. No point in ruminating about shit like that. It didn’t happen. 

Strider is up, following you closely, but looking down all the time and hunching a little. It’s nothing like what you do, but it still feels weird. The stance is a mix of dread and restlessness. His steps quiet as he walks by your side. You don’t ever try to be discreate about anything, and he ain’t calling you out, so you keep being loud. 

You get to the front of your room, and he opens the door for you. Opening drawers and finding bandages is the easy part, but your hands are messy and you can’t take what you need to the bathroom alone. He helps you in silence, following your instructions, patching you up in the neck. You’re ever so glad to have help to do this. Necks are incredibly sensitive and vulnerable, and you couldn’t trust yourself to deal with something like that with a fucked-up hand. You hiss. Fucker’s got heavy hands, and presses the wounds too hard when patching shit up. You wince away from him. 

“C’mon, Vantas. I know it hurts, but the more you manage to suck it up, the faster this ends” his monotonous and low tone show his focus and maybe a little bit of guilt, although that last one is just wishful thinking on your part. 

You assess the damage... It’s a lot of damage. 

Inside an ablutionblock with your neck craned to the side, letting a guy you barely know and that pissess you off a whole fucking lot clean and disinfect the wound that he inflicted in you himself while he is naked from the waist up, letting his holed torso for all to see. Wow. You managed all the quadrants. All of them. How the fuck did you become your own auspistice you’ll never understand. Suddenly, the fact that he is dead seems so far from a problem that you begin to wonder if Gamzee’s chucklevoodoos overpowered your mutation and are taking their hold on you, driving you insane before they start to make you fear your own fucking shadows. 

He stops, finished with your neck. You extend him your dominant hand, still clamped tight around the bandages. You open it slowly, hissing all the way until is open. In the middle, a little bit of your mutant red starts to poke through the bandages. 

“You want help with that too?”  

“It’s my dominant hand. I could try and fix it myself, but it’s pulsing and aching and taking this bandage off is going to be a bitch, if you’ve ever heard of one, and it’s gonna bleed all over the floor like the shittiest waterfall known to human and troll kind, and you manage to keep me from bitching too much, and if I have to do it myself with my non-dominant hand I’m gonna take three times as long” you look at him mid argument and see his expression soften, like he was as tense as you before – even if that’s impossible, you’re the most stuck-up person you know – so you continue ranting, not letting the silence fall back “ and I’m gonna bitch all the way through, and the amount of blood will be three times as much, and then after I’m donne being angry at my incapability of doing shit, I’m gonna get angry at the fact that I’m gonna have to clean this place on my own because if I let the maids in, that’d be worse and stupid and I’d berate myself for fucking ever and they could start asking questions like “I know you guys had just gotten your pitch hats on” which we didn’t and, then again, stupid maids who put their noses in places they aren’t supposed and continue with “but you didn’t have to go to stabbing so quickly, that’s something that should be held back for the 3rd date at minimum” like they would know that kind of shit, because their love lifes are sooooo fucking superior. That metaphorical maid has no idea what the fuck she’s talking about in the first place, because stabbing should only be in like’ the 15th fucking date forward if EVER, because who the fuck likes to get bloody when making out?” 

He’s all perked up and you feel weird. You were pitch flirting – even if you’d never admit to anyone, shut up parents – and now you were trying to be reassuring? “Dude, you can’t just go on kink shaming people. Everyone has something that gets their bangashbeng motors running. I don’t know how that works for trolls, but humans have some weird shit between themselves, other than the obvious xenophiles that are all around. Can’t really tell you my sources, but I heard that trolls can make humans go crazy-insane in bed with the lustfulness-” okay, he went that way with this conversation. You don’t think he knows what the fuck he’s talking about, despite knowing very well why that rumor got around. He started unwrapping the bandage in your arm, and despite liking that the chaffing parts in your arm got removed, your cut stings with the lack of pressure of having that part unwrapped from your hand. 

The banter between the two of you goes back and forward like a tennis match with multicolored balls, each one a different subject that just get changed mid match. You hiss and wince every so often, but his tight grip in your wrist doesn’t let you go anywhere while he cleans your cuts. 

“Hey, you’ve been saying that we’re gonna show up tomorrow at the Cavendish Home, but you never actually said what’s the plan” he speaks of his own state in the third person? 

“You are the plan. We show up, I’m your friend. We get in. We get out” it’s a pretty simple plan. You’re no Terezi or Vriska to overcomplicate shit into a clusterfuck of cahootness and backstabbery. He straightens in the stoll in front of yours. 

“Dude. I’ve been dead for six months. That’s not gonna work. If I just show up people are going to freak the fuck out when they find out I'ma corpse brought back from the dead” hypocrite “So now you fucking care about people thinking you’re dead or alive? Ha. Suck on a bulge and choke” this is just a little bit of revenge. Just a little. “But, seriously, did you think that was going to work?” he stood to wash his hands in the sink “I didn’t have the intention to just drop you there and see you squirm. That’s why I lent you the clothes and told you to take a shower. You looked sick, but you looked alive right after it. Obviously, cause nothing in my life can ever be any less disgusting and obnoxious than a ginormous behemoth leaving in 12th perigees’ eve things got thrown masterfully into the breeze blender by a fucking chuclevoodoolish psycho juggaloo who’s originated from a family of subjuggulators and laughsassins and is trying to make me his next victim playing the fucking puppet-master with the corpse who’s my only hope” wow. That was a dump you took right there. Yeap. That came out of your mouth. “I don’t know if I should feel sad I hurt you, happy you think I’m your hope, realived you care enough to no just use me for your own purposes and then just discard me because I don’t serve your purposes anymore, scared because my body almost got turned into a murder puppet, confused at half the things you said, like’ what the fuck is a chucklevoodoo? And how does Gamzee play into this picture? You have to show me a drawing of this fucker, so I at least know who I’m trying to fuck over and backwards” 

“Wait. You don’t know what chucklevoodoos are?” Then what the fuck was he thinking the vents were holding? And should you be afraid of that too? “I know they are one of the troll’s super powers. There’s telekinesis, mind-control, sparkles, talking to animals, glowing in the dark, and fear induction, right?” 

“Psionics do a little more than just sparkles, and glowing in the dark is a characteristic of rainbow drinkers, not an actual hability, communing is more than just talking to animals, whoever can do it can actually control animals, like pancontrol, and last but not least, chucklevoodoos are more than just fear induction, although yeah, that’s a lot of what they do” you admit, begrudgingly “but a bit of what chucklevoodoos do other than making you afraid of your own fucking shadow is sprinkle paranoia and self-doubt. Those are the things that conduct to the fucking fear in the first place. Why the fuck did you look so disjoint I have no shitting clue” you admit “but part of what might’ve made you wanna get the blade acquainted with my neck is the grubsauce mix of these shitty feelings” pretty sure that’s what did it, still very scared and uneasy that shit went so far as to draw blood. 

“Dude, I’m really-” nope, you’re not letting him “Shut up” he tries to say it again but nope “I said shut up. You’re not apologizing for something you didn’t do. You said it yourself, nookeater, that you didn’t do it. If you didn’t fucking do it then you don’t have to apologize for it, so shut your load gaper lips and do NOT apologize” 

He closed his mouth. Welp, that’s a start. 

“Karkat! What the ever glubbing glub are you doin in the ablutionblock at this time of  night? Why aren’t ya sleepin and why is there human blood in my floor?” 

Why the fuck can’t your parents stay asleep???? 

“Oh.  _OH._  You got to stabbin’ already?” 

You groan. Loudly. 

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, YOU BULGE CHAFFING HOOFBEAST DROPPING! WHY DON’T YOU GO SLIP IN A ROTTEN CLUCKBEAST OVA? CAUSE I AM BUSY TO ENDULGE YOU!” 

Strider is clucthing his mouth with both hands, trying not to laugh. Piece of shit. 

“ Shouty! I didn’t take ya as the kinda guy to move that fast!” Hand, meet face. Get to know each other. 

“Did’ya pin’im ‘gainst the wall? ‘t’s got handprints with blood init” 

You remember hugging him in the middle of the hall, while you were both shaking. 

“IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!” 

“Did’ya do that stupid thing ya do when down to dirty talk? The shell smooth operator voice?” 

 _It’s fine. I know, I know. I’m here, not_ _gonna_ _let it get you, I promise. I’m here now._  

It was an operator voice, alright, but not the one she’s thinking. 

Strider is almost bursting. You wanna slap him in the face. 

“I *SAID* IT’S NONE OF YOUR *GOG DAMN BUSINESS* FUCK OFF!” 

“I want all the details later, shelly boy. There’s no way yall be getting' down to stabbin’ and he not be all up your gill” maniacal laugh, because of course she would “Lockin’ya works every glubbin’ time” more maniacal laughter. 

“SO YOU DID THAT??? FUCK YOU, MENAH! YOU DEFINETLY HEARD WHEN I TOLD YOU TO LET US OUT, YOU PSICHO SEA BITCH!” and even more laughter “I’M GONNA BE STABBING YOU AFTER I GET OUT OF HERE, YOU SEA WITCH! GO CHOKE ON A POLYARMEDBEAST TENTACLE YOU DIRTY-MINDED SICKO!” 

“You shouldn’t be using your black advances on yo mama, shouty” more laughter “save yo shark like tounge fo ya boy” she just won’t stop laughing! “and make shore ya’ don’t give’im everythin, gotta keep the boy interested in ya! You know the gill!” 

You quietly scream to the heavens, making the motion with your face and letting the air out of your lungs. 

“NOT THAT’S ANY OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS, BUT THAT’S NOT GONNA HAPPEN! HE’S HUMAN! THEY DON’T DO BLACK ROMANCE!” 

You look at Strider, and his face tells that was a so-so argument. 

“Ya boy didn’t seem much like a human, then. He’s pitch flirting with you for shore, shouty, ya should’ve seen the boisterous show he was throwing aboat being shella great and all” 

You look at him pointedly with furrowed brows. This is all his fault. He just lifts his hands and shows you they’re empty, gesturing he didn’t do anything, except he did, he just didn’t know he was doing. Ignorant piece of pitiable shit. Wow. You made that statement in your head. Erase. Erase. News flash, idiot, you can’t erase thoughts. 

“MENAH, ME AND STRIDER ARE NOT QUADRANTING OR ANYTHING, AND I DO HAVE A MARRIAGE TO DEAL WITH ALREADY, SO STOP PRODDING INTO SHIT WITH YOUR CULLING FORK, OR ELSE YOU MIGHT END UP KILLING ME FROM SHAME! I’M NOT YOUR LITTLE DOLL TO GO PAIRING AROUND, FOR FUCK SAKE!” 

“KNOW YOUR PLACE BOY” she shouts back, clearly displeased. Your ganderbulbs widen and you see the smirk in Strider’s face die a quick death. Shit, this can’t be good “IF WE TELL’YA TO MERRY SOMEONE, YA DOIT. YA DON’T GET TA CHOOSE, YA HEAR? YA DON’T GETTA USE THE MARRIAGE YOU HAVE AS AN EXCUSE FOR GLUBBIN GLUB! NOT AFTER THE SHAME YA MADE ME AND ARANEA GO THROUGH, YA LITTLE SHIT!” oh, she’s mad alright. 

“THAT WASN’T MY FAULT!” You retort. 

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCKING FUCK!” she’s not using the glub quirk, holy shit, she wants your throat “YA’RE NOTHIN MORE THAN A RUSTY WE DECIDED TO TAKE. WE’RE HIGHER THAN YA, AND WE OWN YA! IN PAPER! SO YEAH, SHOUTY, I MIGHT BE SEA COOL WITH YA, BUT YA MADE ME GO THROUGH GLUBBING SHAME! YA MADE PEOPLE DOUBT ME ON MY WORD! I’M DONNE PLAYING MAMA WITH YA IF YA DON’T LEARN YA PLACE! BUT IF YA START SCREWIN ARAUND WITH ME AND ARANEA, YA IN FORA BEATIN. GET IN THAT BOYS PANTS AND MAKE’IM WANNA GET INTO YOURS, OR ELSE YOU WILL GET TO KNOW THE END OF MY CULLIN FORK. I have no use for a disobedient high maintenance whore” 

At the end of the scolding, you are sitting on the ground looking with both eyes wide at the door. You can’t look at him. You can’t look at anything. Your stomach swirls and you need to vomit. Except you didn’t eat anything. You have nothing to vomit. Your stomach didn’t get the memo and when you see, you have your head in the load gaper, bile coming up from your digestive system, and since that’s all you have, that is all you grace the walls of the load gaper with. A little bit after, you hear Strider getting closer and replacing your hand with his to hold your hair. With it free, you can hug the gaper when the next wave hits. You feel so dirty and wrong and you want to take a shower and rinse yourself to go to your room, lock the door and hug a pillow while you cry reading a romance/drama book, because if that was your life, it would have been better. You spit in the gaper and flush. He hands you toilet paper and you clean your mouth. You look at the now clean water, push your hair back with both hands and rests them back in the load gaper. Then you look at him and ask earnest.  

“What the fuck do I do now?” 

He’s kneeling by your side, and places a hand in your back. 

“I died before I could figure” he answers. 

* * *

 

You are now Dave Strider and you just witnessed something you wish wasn’t true. There are literally zero things you can do to help in such a situation, and you think you’d feel even worse if you were alive, because that would entail dealing with Bro too, and not because he wouldn’t approve of the marriage, necessarily, even because the amount of money the Vantas family has would be more than enough to make him discard the fact you’d be marrying a dude. 

Not unlike him, you feel sickened by that exchange, except you’re not literally puking. You remember the pile of vile bile and can’t help but find it ironic that it’s happening with him, even if he did use the sentence with you. Maybe you’d laugh if not for the situation. 

“Sorry I asked” he says, bitter. 

“C’mon. We both have to go to your room without your...” what the fuck do you call them? They are obviously not their moms even if that’s what they pretend to be. “Owners” he provides, with a scrunched-up face, the bitterness of the vomiting session present all over his voice. You just continue your train of thought “...seeing us” his eyes focus on you “Oh, that’s right, you’re still half naked” he snorts “can’t let the fantasies of the crazy sea bitch get fuel” yeah, that and “I agree, but, I have a hole the size of Denmark in my chest, man. I guess that’s a bit more pressing than the fact that your...whatevers might get masturbation fuel from whatever’s left of my sweet packs”. 

He gets up, goes to the sink, mouthwashes with the running water, takes his blazer and hands it to you. You button it up. He fiddles with the grey cravat in his neck and pushes it up to hide the cut you made. 

The cut you made on his skin. He won’t let you apologize. He says he knows you didn’t do it of your own free will, but it was your body, you saw it happen to him, and you let it happen because you couldn’t move. You don’t want to be a failure. You come from a family of awesome knights! It’s your duty to protect the innocent from the forces of evil. Evil like the one you were facing. But you didn’t. You failed and you almost got him killed. You didn’t do it, but the fact that you didn’t do anything, that you couldn’t do anything is still your fault. You were trained your whole life in the ways if the sword, but you still had no control over your body! Saying you’re sorry won't do him or you any good, so you decide that, at least until you fulfill your end of the bargain, you’ll take care of him, so he can actually help you when it comes down to him to fulfill his end. He hides the cut hand in his trousers pocket and opens the bathroom door with his good hand. You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezes in attempt to be assuring. 

Both of you walk down the hallway to his room in silence. His face looking at the floor is concentrated. He’s not checking to see if any of his “owners” are around, and it makes you uneasy, so you check the surroundings to be sure and get caught by surprise when he speaks. 

“Don’t bother looking. They’re in their rooms now” he states “And how do you know?” you ask “I just do” he retorts, opening the room and inviting you inside, then locking the door, but leaving the key inside the lock, thoughtful. You see the inside of his wardrobe, now. Mostly suits, but in the far end there’s a sweater, black like all the rest, with a sign that you’ve never seen painted in the middle in a troll-skin-like-gray, maybe a little lighter. 

You see him fiddle with the shirt he’s wearing, and start unbuttoning the blazer he gave you, getting to about half of it until realizing the gloves diminish your progress, so you take them off as well, aiming to put them above the bedside table. When the blazer is off and you see yourself again with a naked torso, you turn to hand him the clothing piece in hand.  

He’s naked from the torso up as well. You were right, his shoulders are broad and he hunches too much. He’s got defined biceps and pecs, but no six pack – you're still winning on that. Alright! - although, he’s not fat either. Skin a deep gray, now that you notice. Seems warm, inviting, extra smooth, resembling a carapace. The curiosity to know if it was as smooth as it seemed is what moves your flesh covered hand to high of his back, right where the hunches, but when your middle finger brushes his skin you feel something you haven’t in a long while.

Warmth. 

You sprawl your hand in there, and rub it around a bit, basking in the smooth warmth of the troll skin. Directing the hand to his shoulder, he looks at you. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asks a little annoyed. “You’re warm” you tell him. 

“Yeah, of course I am. I’m alive. What were you expecting?” 

“I was expecting literally nothing, but somehow, with you, I can feel” 

“What do you mean you can  _feel?”_  

 **DAVE:**  

If I touch a burning candle 

I can feel no pain 

If you cut me with a knife it’s still the same 

 

And I know your heart is beating 

And I know that I am dead 

Yet this heat here that I feel 

Try and tell me it’s not real 

 

And it seems that I still have some hope to fled 

 

“This is another sign” he grabs your wrist gently and removes from his skin. Even in his hand you feel it. But when he talks, is exhausted, drained, his will a bit broken, but still trying to be mindful “Can we do this later?” 

You are thrown into awareness. 

He was just called a prostitute, and seconds later, as soon as he had his shirt out, you started running your hand in him. 

He lets your hand go, and you crave the warmth as soon as he does, because you’re back to being unmistakably dead and cold. Two steps back later you say “Yeah. Of course, what was I thinking? Touching your bare skin out of nowhere. Highly inappropriate, ha, I wasn’t thinking in my right mind. I’m nothing if completely mindful of people's boundaries, usually. What a slip up. Wow. I’m not usually this obtu-” 

“Strider” 

Your mouth clamps. You were rambling. He’s obviously not in a rambly mood, like he was in the bathroom. Shit. He pulls the black sweater with gray logo over his head and hands you a white sleeveless shirt. While you put it, his voice founds a new determination. 

“Here’s the deal” he unbuckles his belt “tomorrow, we’ll go to the Cavendish home under the disguise of being a recently married couple wanting to adopt a child” your face looks at him so fast your brain gets whiplash “What?” you manage. “You said you can’t just show up. So, obviously, you’re not going as yourself, asshat. You don’t need to get a knot in your human bulge about it. We’re not going to get an actual offspring, you fucking obtuse flasher” you sigh in relief and he continues “If we have this disguise, we can go in more times to plan around the actual building and whatever it is that a place, build like a fucking asylum like your state is, has. We can use this time to go in and make it a recon mission. Map all the places where they might not keep the snotty brats, cross-reference it with what you know about the place and pin-point the most likely locations for the sword to be” 

“Like your plan. Sound awesome, like’ we get to play spy. Won’t really need it” your take your shoes off. He does the same. “What do you mean with “won’t really need it”?” he questions, annoyed. “Bro never kept anything important far away from him. The sword that was his, The Unbreakable Katana, never left his side. Dude was crazy’in love with his shit. But since both swords were supposed to be heirlooms, they both have glass displays in the headmaster’s office, from the time the place was also a school” you provide. 

“You haven’t been there in a while. How do you even fucking know that the displays are not broken or have been moved?” 

“Bro never moved anything, and if the displays were to be destroyed, he’d rebuild them” 

“Why? That’d be a waste of time. Doesn’t he have children to take care of?” 

A fair point, but “The heritage him and I have is that place. If it ever got destroyed, he’d rebuild. If it ever got assaulted, he’d either go after whoever’s donne it and take the shit back or he’d buy every single little thing again. The whole point of whoever’s in possession of The Unbreakable Katana is to protect the household. For as long as I’ve known him, he was never anything if a sticker for rules, order, tradition and that kind of thing” 

“That sounds really annoying” you have to agree. Sometimes it really was. “But it made his behavior predictable, which we can actually use to our advantage” most of the times. Unfortunately for your torso, in battle, he was never predictable enough. 

The troll goes to sit in his desk chair and starts to fumble a bit around there, grabbing papers and neating them into an organized pile. 

“What are you doing, man?” 

“For this to succeed we need to make sure you’re irretraceable. You’re going in as a troll. I don’t like the next part, but we have to pretend you’re my kissmises, otherwise they won’t even let us in, and since my other concupiscient quadrant is already occupied, that is the one I have left. You’re also going to need an alias and-” he looks at your bony arm “ and a fucking arm” you make the fingers of your bony hand wiggle in the air in front of his face, jokingly. He scowls. You smirk. He swats your hand away, and the slap leaves a heat print in a place where your hand muscles would have been. It’s a fleeting ghosting sensation and you catch yourself wishing that it would last longer.“Luckily for your sorry ass, I happen to know a guy for the arm job. NO. THAT'S NOT INNUENDO. How do you feel about a robotic prosthetic?” holy shit, that’d be the bomb “Whatever, man. S’just for the job anyway, right?” although, if you do get the prosthetic, you hope against hope you can keep it “No, I don’t think so, nooklicker. If you get a fucking robotic prosthetic the only two ways of getting it out are with either surgery or mauling. That’s why I’m asking” oh, hell, yes, please. Rad robot arm, yes, please! “Yeah, sure, whatever” you shrug “I’ll send a letter to each of the contacts we’re going to be visiting tomorrow” he says, but the next part comes way lower, which is uncharacteristic of his high abrasive tones “and an apology one”. 

“Apologize to your Boo?”  

“I think Nepeta would rather be addressed as a cat than as a ghost, but for the sake of the flow of this conversation, yes, I’ll be sending a letter to my, as you so fucking eloquently called “Boo”, which is a horrific way to address anyone, honestly” 

“Just blame me, man” you suggest. 

“Why would I do that? She doesn’t even fucking-” his eyes widen and he speaks slower “know you... Strider, this just might make it all easier. I’ll blame your stupid mug, tell her we got into a match, setting a background for our kissmisitude, and go ask her for a black wig and some pelts. You can be an olive blood, just like her. Olives don’t have psychic abilities and they are, generally speaking, very deadly with sharp weapons. It fits your profile perfectly. I have an Indigo Blood contact that produces paint. We can ask her to adapt her formula and cook you some makeup so we can put some decent color into that pale face of yours-” 

“Wow! Slow down! We don’t need to make me look like a troll! We can just make me look like a regular human” 

“I actually thought about that but aren’t you humans incapable of black romance?” 

“No. Not really. We can do it. But with us the quadrants only work as different sides of the same coin. We can do all of them, with our single individual Boos, but there’s always one side we tend to fall back onto. Black romance for humans sounds more like “You piss me off, we got nothing in common, but your nagging makes me wanna be better than you, for you, because I love the way you’re always awesome at stuff” you know?” 

“Wow, that sound like a load of hoofbeast shit” 

“It works for some people. I’m not the love expert, although I am an expert at loving”  

“If such tawdry approach is the best you can do to engage in a conversational endeavor with the concupiscient recipient of your affections, I get why you died without ever managing to produce an offspring. It’s remarkably pathetic;” 

“I’d like to see you try to do better” 

“I already have. I can say anything sweeter than you” he stands from the chair, and though he’s mere inches shorter, your noses brush. His hands slither to your chest. His warm breath coats the lower part of your face, lips, chin and even the beginning of your cheeks “and that includes the saying: I pity you” and he pushes you back and away from him by the chest. You stumble, but fall on something soft. He was aiming at the bed when he did it, you realize. Looking at his face, a smug expression is plastered in his face, and his arms are crossed above his chest. You feel a little bit of warm spread in your cheeks, but then you notice: dumb butt just lost the bed. A smirk creeps. You stretch your back and hear a face palm happening. Oh, yes. One more point to the bastard of perfection that you are. You bask in that glory with a satisfied smirk in your face, until the sound of pen making its way through paper fills your ears.  

The sound is soothing, and you fall asleep wishing the feeling of warmth from his touches in your chest and nose tip, just as well as the one from his breathing in close proximity of your face, would keep ghosting you. 

You wish you could keep feeling. 

You wish he could keep making you  _feel._  


	8. Down The Rabbit Hole

Opening your eyes hurts. Urgh, everything is too bright. Covering your face with the bony hand doesn’t do much to shadow the way the light pierces. What the fuck. Who lets the window open when they know people are trying to sleep? 

 _Rise and shine, kiddo! Grab the bow n' arrow, we are officially out of food, and you’re the one going to get it!_  

 _Bro! It’s fucking ass crack in the morning! Nothing's_ _gonna_ _be out at this time._  

 _Good, then you’ll have the advantage of getting the_ _deers_ _while they’re still tripping balls at being lazy fucks. Now get chopping._  

Forget that thought. You know exactly who. 

But you’re not in your state. 

You look around and remember you slept in someone else’s bed. Oh, yeah, Karkats. You slept in his bed. Wait. Where did he sleep, then? 

You look around and see a pile of folded clothes and a letter, written in cursive, but extremely large letters. Signed from Karkat. You breathe a little too hard through your nose. How could you be surprised that even in writing he manages to be loud? 

 _I pity you_  

Hand, meet face. What the fuck were you thinking? Why did that one sweet thing he said came back? He’s loud, and dirty mouthed, and you’re just using each other to your own goals and- 

 _It’s fine. I know, I know. I’m here, not_ _gonna_ _let it get you, I promise. I’m here now._  

And except for that one time when he hugged you, he’s always angry at shit, and he’s always trying to antagonize you in a fun way that makes you feel funny. Weeeeeird funny. 

Why are you thinking about this? There's a letter in your hands. Read it, for Christ sake. 

 _Hey, asshat –_ typical  for him, you suppose –  _Hope you had a wonderful sleep, since you_ _apparently_ _decided that monopolizing the bed would be a fun stunt –_ It was, and you regret nothing –  _not that it would have made any difference at all, since my anxiety insomnia is so_ _bad,_ _I basically sleep once every three days, so, jokes on you –_ Okay, now you do feel a bit bad –  _Funny story that’s not so funny: I finished writing all the letters to my associates and sources_ **_and_ ** _the letter to my_ _fiancee_ _. She’s the main source I have to make you not look like, well...you. Sorry to break it down to you, but we’re still going with my plan and I am_ _going_ _to_ _trollify_ _your ugly human mug –_ Too bad for him, honestly, you bet you would be as hot as a troll as you are as a human –  _but I didn’t actually_ _apologize_ _in the letter. I’m going to do that in person, and you’re coming with me –_ Oh, fuck –  _to all of my appointments of the day. Prepare yourself, Strider, be_ _cause_ _I am going to drag you around like my personal pet_ _barkbeast_ _for the rest of the day._  

 _Go fuck yourself forwards and_ _backwards_ _and sideways, just for good_ _measure_ _._  

 _K.V._  

 _PS: you can’t ever seem to keep a suit intact, so I’m providing you a new one, and_ _since_ _you lost my favorite fucking red tie, you get stuck with using one no tie today. Get ready to be judged by all the classy and rich people we’re going to be visiting._  

 

Ha! Fucker doesn’t know the first thing about you. You could impress a crowd naked. 

… 

Actually, scratch that, doing that would be easy. You would be a naked dead man. People would pay real money to see you and get thoroughly grossed out. Why do people get a thrill at getting scared or grossed out? You’ll never understand why people are so weird. 

 _Bro! Stop! Wake up!_  

Nope. You’re cutting that memory short. Actually, you’re never going to think about it. Yep. Caramel apple was not worth the broken ribs or busted lip or the bruised hand, and that’s as much as you’re gonna acknowledge of that shit show. Now, clothes, right, they are a thing you gotta think about, right now. 

* * *

 

The weirdest thing about going more than 16 hours without eating is that you start to notice a pattern. The hunger gets worse in your usual eating schedule hours. Around dinner, around breakfast, and if it goes around lunch, you’ve officially found a pattern. And since you still think that eating after last night is not a good idea, you might just figure out if that is an actual thing or not. 

And now, to top your ever-growing mountain of worries and problems and just generic shit, you had to call in a huge number of favors that you were kind of keeping in your sleeve for an emergency. 

Well, guess this is the emergency, then and fuck your own needs. 

The sun is bright from the porch of your house. You’re wearing your usual and the memory of yesterday swills like sewage in your gut. You’re waiting for him to show up so you can take him, and you tried to keep your usual banter with the letter, but you’ll not be disappointed if he doesn’t want to talk to you at all. As sad and defeated as it sounds, you expect it to be the case. 

When he shows up at the door, you didn’t expect the first thing to leave his mouth to be “Wow. They’re hot, but fuck, they are dicks!” and all you can say is “Strider, you have to stop doing that, what the actual fuck” his eyes widen behind the eye wear and you see him freeze like an antlerbeast when seeing a hunter “If you’re going to call someone names, at least be creative, for fuck sake. Not everyone knows what a human dick is like, most people don’t want to know and I bet that there are people somewhere in the world with pan-damage enough to not find that to be insulting in the first place”. 

He breathes hard and ragged through his nose a couple times, suppressing a laugh. A creeping smirk gracing his features. “You’re out of this world, you know that?”. 

You just deadpan “I’m a troll, not a tool, of course I know that” and leaves the porch. 

* * *

 

“So, where are you taking me? Are you kidnapping me already? I said I was sorry for taking you to the underworld!” 

“You actually never did, you preposterous self-absorbed piece of shit!” He never did but, is that him trying to? In his assbackwards way? “And no. I would never ever ever, for as long as I live, kidnap someone as absurd and infuriating and insufferable as you are. And I mean EVER. And that should tell you something about your awful personality, because I have kidnapped Sollux before to build that monstrosity I have in the lab and by now I know you know-” 

“How fucking awesome Sollux is? That guy’s the funniest shit that ever got down to the down n’ under! Hearing him go on and on and on about code and tech and things with that much lisp is just a fucking blast every time! No one can understand jack about what he says and most times people don’t even understand what he is saying! It’s hilarious!” 

“WOW, YOU’RE A WORSE PERSON THAN I THOUGHT! How do you manage to keep just’ leveling up in that scale I didn’t even fucking ever managed to contemplate the fact that it existed in the first place and surpass me? HOW DARE YOU! Surpass me? I was the worst person I knew until I met you, Strider, I hope you’re fucking happy” 

“Nah. You’re far from being the worse person ever. Think about some of the kings we’ve had. England is no shit when talking about shitty reigns. Or, you could just look at how new riche treat their workers” 

“I am a new riche, you mongrel” oh shit “I pay people less than minimum wage to work for 16 or plus hours and there’s just so many unemployed people that I can rotate the staff daily. The only thing people under my scrutiny have is the uncertainty of tomorrows bread. You think your little story about timmy never having a plush bear because his mom waisted the father’s money is far from the truth? Well, let me break it down to you: it is. The true story is that timmy has to work too, just as hard as his mother and father, or else they don’t get enough to eat” he speeds up his pace. 

“Karkat, just the fact that you know all this proves my point.” 

“Maybe it would, if I had any say at how workers are treated in the first place. Which I don’t. Because only measly 22% of the company is in my actual name. Not even a third” he actually starts to stride, and you follow, because is either that or be left behind “Not even a third! And they could do it, the fucking hags. It’s a fucking statement that they own me!” He’s scowling very hard “Like they’d need that! Like the hemospectrum wasn’t enough for the finned ass of my, actually, self-alleged guardians, to push me around like any other run-of-the-mill rust blood. Those scorching piles of hoofbeast shit!”  

Okay. That really got to his goat. What to do? What to do? 

“But hey, at least marrying Nepeta is going to take me out of my misery” wait, what? “Dude! You’re gonna marry someone who wants to kill you?” and he just looks incredulous “What? No! Why the fuck would you-” he understands that  _hey, I’m dead_  so maybe less use of death lingo? “No no no. Nepeta is the heiress of a huge set of caves that used to be mined by slaves, when humans still thought that black people were inferior. I still don’t get why you guys thought that, but ever since you guys stopped, payed workers to work on such dangerous sites are costly and not productive enough. So, I had some engineers produce some machines, and with my investment, the charcoal produced in the mines can fuel the ships I already own into further oceans, faster. We get increased production and I get rich enough to escape the clutches of my owners. Happy fucking ending.” 

“Oh. That’s what you meant by-” and he just deadpans, interrupting your line of thought “You really think I would marry someone who I thought would kill me? Do I look THAT mentally retarded, Strider?” 

We stop and, hey, sassy smirk time “Do you want an honest answer or?” he takes his claws out “I’m going to fucking maim you” then he looks to a huge mansion and re-thinks “No, actually, she is going to maim you if I even dare to bring you in. You have to stay here. I mean it. This is super important, Strider. All you have to do is hide. She can’t see you. Go hide in the bushes or just look like a passerby, I don’t know, but don’t let her see you” 

“Man, I’m gonna be seriously disappointed if this is your Terezi rebound and she’s also blind, cause that’d be a hilarious joke-” he cuts the rant, eyes wide, steady hands on his shoulders, low voice “I’m not joking. She’s dangerous beyond herself. She’s a vicious indigo blood with a purple blooded moirail. If this go south, I’ll see you on the other side. Do you understand?” 

“If she is this dangerous why not just go with my plan to make me look alive?” 

“Even for that I need the paint, nooklicker. She’s the only source of that around here, other than her moiral, and both their means are not the most...orthodox. But we need it now. You are so white that you’re blue, and even if I'd love to slap you to test if color could return to your face from it, we don’t have time to dwell in the little shit. Not after what happened in the lab. Just promise me you won’t let her see you” 

“Dude, I wouldn’t be so worried about me if I were you. Whoever that chic is, she doesn’t know me, but you’re going in there alone because of paint?” it sounds even more absurd when you say it out loud. 

“I know what I’m getting myself into. Just promise you won’t let her see you” 

“I’m already dead. What could they do to me?” 

“They could kill everything you love right in front of you and let you see it rot” and then you know he is serious, but also being really imprudent. “We can find another way into my state, you don’t have to walk into a death-trap for a dead man, man” he squeezes your shoulders “Promise me”. 

You bat both of his hands from your shoulders “Okay, fine. You don’t need to make a show out of it. But if I’m not supposed to go in with you, why did you bring me?” a hollow laugh “For as pan rotting as it might sound, to keep me sane from this interaction, and because you’re carrying the shit I bring” oh, for fuck sake “I’m not your mule” he opens the gate and right before entering, and retorts “And yet, all you can seem to do is bray.” 

Holy shit. Yep. That was his line out of this conversation. He burned you good, you think, and in more ways than one. Running your hands on your shoulders, right where he had been touching them before. It was faint but...fuzzy. 

Your fucking body is getting more kicks out of the touch of a male troll now, after you died, then it ever had with any lady when it was alive and kicking. A troll dude with whom you exchange barbs in a daily basis, by now. 

Something is so very fucking wrong with you. 

What the fuck is wrong with you? 

You look at the pavement and... He never described who shouldn’t see you. You crouch and coil against the wall, looking at all sides with rapid eye movements. Great. Back to hyper-awareness we go. 

* * *

 

Well, you can thank Vriska for the skill to lie to people’s faces. You have no clue what you’re actually getting into, even because they weren’t actually sources you got by yourself. 

Strange thing about Juggalos: they all know each other. 

The cult they have is united, at least in this city, and the total amount of five purple bloods who live in here all know one another and who they hang out with. 

You remember the duo: a short indigo with curvy hair and an apron-like-dress who seemed to never have seen the water, but definitely could name all the colors of the rainbow and her...moiral. A purple blood with killing rumblespheres, thighs that could crack a skull in two, a long, black mane that could drown you whole and tranquil eyes that rivaled with Gamzees, which, in retrospect, meant that they were borderline psychotic. 

Strider is right. You are walking into a death trap. If Gamzee did tell the others about the fact you guys broke up and, not only that, but are in bad terms with one another, you’re getting culled. You swallow a lump in your throat. 

* * *

 

The streets are quiet, except for the wind that blows the dirt off of the cobblestone road. It’s sensible that the streets are quiet in a Sunday morning. People are, very likely, in the church, getting the good’ol lord speech. 

 _Bro, why are we going to the church? It’s stupid. God’s_ _omniscient_ _._  

 _Kiddo, do you ever get scared?_  

 _What? No._ _Of course_ _not._  

You lied, obviously. 

 _Well, then I've been teaching you wrong. Fear is what keeps people alive, alert, on guard._  

 _But... You’re never afraid._  

 _That’s why I go, kiddo. To get scared. To remind myself that there’s someone out there who’s more powerful than me, judging me, watching me and that will be ready to punish me at any time._ _It_ _motivates me to keep getting better, stronger and free._  

Fear keeps people alive because it keeps them on edge, ready to fight or flight, pumping them with adrenaline and paranoia. 

You are left in such a state for quite a couple minutes after Karkat leaves, so when you hear a loud scream and the rattling of cans simultaneously with the sound of the rustling of grass by feet, you get jolt into action. You plaster yourself against the wall and squints to see who’s coming your way. 

Karkat is running at full speed, screaming for you to scram, but what catches your eyes is the petit lady in the house porch, holding an axe that looks like a battle weapon, eyes red, all teeth bare, aiming it right at the center of his back. 

She launches the thing, and you launch yourself into his direction. He starts talking “I TOLD YOU TO NOT LET HER-” you reach him, tackling him to the floor by body slam. The axe whooshes right beside your ear and pierces the soil of the porch “see you” he finishes looking at the axe, looks back, takes your wrist and lifts your up “RUUUUUUN!” 

You let him take you to wherever, getting lost in the alleys and backstreets of places you never knew. He only lets your wrist go when the both of you stop in an alley. He puts the box of goods he’d been tightly attached with down, sits on the ground and just breathes. A thin drop of sweat coming down his forehead and temples. He dries himself with the cuffs of his sleeves and you just can’t stop staring at his parted lips gasping for breath in a faithful imitation of a drowning man. 

“Dude, did you steal that from her?” 

“What? NO! She owed me, but then said that it was a single favor, and that since her obligation with me had ended, her duty with the cult was a priority. Then, she grabbed the axe and started chasing me, the crazy loony arrogant dipshit!” 

“Man! Is the whole crazy clown parade after your ass?” 

“And the affiliated” 

“How deep in shit are you, man?!” 

“So deep that if I move a single muscle, there’s going to be shit in all the pores in my skin, inside my hearingsponges, my mouth, my fucking ganderbulbs, Strider. I’ll be drowning in shit mixed in with piss and, just for good measure, add bile and chunks of regurgitated food, because shit alone doesn’t even start to describe the fuckload asscrackling hoofbeast bulge life has been downing in my throat like it’s the last popsicle on fucking earth and she wants me to have it!” 

“What did you drag me into?!” your voice tends more to exasperated than actually angry. Or perhaps the dismissive tone is what set’s him up. 

“I didn’t mean to drag you into JACK SHIT, but you just couldn’t keep yourself still behind the wall, could you? Nooooo. You had to haul your ass up and fucking TACKLE ME!” 

“If it wasn’t for me tackling your ass, you’d be dead as a dodo, dude” 

“Not the time for alliterations, Strider” he straightens his suit and opens the box with the goods. Mayonnaise cans are filled to the brim and a little more with paint from all the colors of the rainbow. There are exactly 12 cans, neatly aligned, colors ranging from red to a dirty type of magenta that reminds you awfully of the colors Menah was using. He removes the cans of mayo “although, you’re not too far off from the truth. I did steal something out of that stupid bulge fucking sommelier” and from the depths of the box he takes a pair of horns “these”. 

“Oh. Wow. We’re thieves now. Great.” 

“Oh, shut up. These are the best-looking horns I’ve ever seen and I’m giving them to you. Show some fucking respect and appreciation. I’m making you look badass *and* breath-taking" 

“Karkat, I don’t need horns to be breath-taking. You know who I am” you retort with a cocky side smile. 

“What I *know*, is that *you* are a touch-starved moron” he says putting the horns in your hands “Now, spread your hair and put them right above your hearingsponges, as close to the scalp as you can” he indicates and you speak while doing as indicated “Touch-starved my ass. You’re the only warmth I have felt in months, but I've touched plenty of people” 

“Two innuendos in one sentence. You never seize to amaze me. Shake your head. See if they’re firm” and you do, while also holding two middle fingers in his general direction. “These things are heavy. Are you trying to break my neck? And they’re sturdy too” you tell him after tapping your knuckles at one of them a couple times. 

“Do you know what time is it?” He asks out of the blue, ignoring your questions. The trusty pocket watch comes in hand “It’s 11:15. Why you ask?”. His eyes widen “We don’t have much time. I have very little clue about how to actually use those-” he takes brushes out of the wooden box. All kinds of sizes. “Were those part of the deal as well?” you ask, but he stays quiet, doesn’t respond and start taking the lids of the mayo cans. 

* * *

 

You had no fucking clue, but turns out that mixing all this blood together actually creates a black goop that, if diluted, could maybe pass as troll skin. 

“It didn’t did it?”  

You can’t take this bullshit “NO OF COURSE IT DIDN’T, NOW QUIT IT. I FUCKING OVERPAID THE BULLSHIT PAINT IN MORE THAN 30% IT’S SHITTY STOCK MARKET VALUE” and it’s not a lie. Fucking hoofbeast dong should have been treating you to coffee or at least some of that dirt water humans seem so fond of. But noooooo. Instead she made you watch the procedure. She made you watch the dying and screaming faces of every single one of the trolls who gave their lives so that this guy could be painted gray. 

You remember saying something similar or being even more aggravating to Vriska, but you’re in too deep into the hopperbeast hole already. 

You saw her kill a little fuchsia grub. Probably weeks out if the cocoon. 

But you have to keep your composure. You can’t let him go down the hole with you. Cause if you do, who’s going to pull you out? All your other friends are still in the land of the dead and the one living, breathing friend you do have got sent to France in the hopes of studying literature so he could write his stupid practical-jokes book, leaving you in this filthy, murder-filled county to fend for your own ass. 

He’s the only one in on this. 

“That’s an awful amount of needed colors to produce black paint. And how’s black paint gonna help us anyway?” his tone decreases from slightly amused to a disappointing monotone “Alone, it just plain out won’t. We need something white for the mix” and then you spot a store that sells office materials, including white chalk “and I know just the right thing” 

You stand, cross the street, grab the chalk box, pay for it in the counter without exchanging a single word with anyone. You open the box in your way back to the alley. 

“What are you going to do with that? Powder me?” 

“I think you’re more than white enough as you are right now. There are ladies in Paris that envy your dead-white complexion right now. Juggalos wish they could rip your face out of your head so they could use it as a mask in place of that pasty-ass paint they use” 

“Why didn’t she give you the white paint with all the rest?” 

“She doesn’t produce it. She only produces paint from organic sources and white paint is all chemicals. Basically, a mix of CAL” you show him the chalk “and emulsifiers” you break the chalk in half and starts rubbing both parts together so that its particles fall into the black gloob. 

“Man, why are we even doing this in the middle of nowhere? Shouldn’t we go back to your place and then set off to you Boo?” he indicates with his thumb “No, fuckwad. Not only I don’t want to be back at my place right now” he shakes his head in understanding “but reaching Nepeta’s house from here is easier. And, I can’t introduce you to her, with you looking like a dead-man-walking" 

“Okay, whatever.” he looks inside his pants “What the fuck are you doing?” and he deadpans “Just making sure I still haven’t loss my tighty whiteys” you groan “You mean my tighty whiteys?” but he counters “Hey. You won’t want them back, so they’re mine now” and that’s a fair assessment to which you groan. 

After convincing Strider to help and finishing half the box of chalk the black starts to resemble a dark grey. You grab the brush and dip into the weird mix. “The mix is finished, now I just need to apply it. Lose the eyewear and put your bangs back” you instruct. With closed eyes and glasses removed you painted his face entirely, not forgetting his hearingsponges, or neck. “Purse your lips inwards” You say, and he does. That makes it easy to paint the area under his nose and around the chin “You can unpurse them now” and when he does you wonder what they could do to your own. “Can I leave this position now?” he asks. You tap your finger in his upper chest to check if the paint is dry. “Yeah, you can” you answer. “Man, that was the first you painted of me. Obviously that one is dry. Check the other ones” and so you do. 

Padding his neck with your fingers, up to his jaw. That one’s still a little wet. You change fingers and pad his cheeks and cheek-bones, nose, forehead. “You can put your glasses if you want”. 

Strider startles, coming back to awareness, like You had drained it from him when padding your fingers in his face. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. Cool” he puts them on and you look at his hands. You’re gonna have to paint them as well. “What time is it now?” he takes the cute golden pocket-watch from the suit “12:35” shit. That’s very little time left. You told her you would be there by 13:30, and until all the paint dries who knows how long? Worst case scenario – which seems to be the perma-state of your life – he'll dry on the way there. “I still need to paint your hands and nails” you say taking one of them on your hand and dipping the brush back in the grey goo “My nails?” you show him your claws “I should file them too, but at this point I'm giving less fucks than a lone nun in the middle of the woods” you say sloshing his hand in grey paint. 

When all is done, you leave the alley. Strider is batting his hands in the air trying to dry them faster. You told him it wouldn’t work but he didn’t listen. Eventually, they do dry and you even arrived a little early in front of Nepeta’s house. Now, all that’s left to do is pray her moirail isn’t home, or he’ll finish the work the last indigo started. Your ass can deal with anyone other than him. 

“Go stay behind the wall” 

“Hell no. Last time I did you almost got an axe to the back. I’m going with you” 

“Trolls with unpigmented hair don’t exist. If you were normal and had black hair like literally everybody else, I wouldn’t have to ask that of you, but since your deformed figure is what it is you stay. Behind. The wall” 

“You’re just jealous cause I'm the best bug of the matrix” 

“I’m surprised you watched Matrix when you didn’t even know what a computer was. Did you even manage to get all the hidden meaning behind that play? Or you’re one of those people who watch just because of the action scenes?” 

He smirks “How did you figure out I went just for the action scenes? Don’t I give you a philosopher vibe?” you roll your eyes “First, no. Second, shut up. Third, stay here until I introduce you to her. I mean it” he shurgs “Okay. Sure. No problems. If you stole her heart like you stole those brushes, we’ll be fucking golden” 

 _She grabbed and lifted the axe like it was made of feathers. Trapped and unarmed, you tried to find an escape. Sprinting for the wooden box filled with_ _fresh_ _blood you listened the dragging sound of a blunt_ _surface_ _in the wooden floor. When you looked behind, the weapon was_ _raised_ _. You barreled out of its reach, hearing the destruction of a decorative furniture._  

 _Hiding out of sight, you next instinct was to fight your way out. You_ _couldn't_ _beat her. Nor even hope to, but maybe hurt her just enough so that she would not run after your sorry ass._  

 _The brushes looked just sharp enough. The element of surprise, increased by your unintimidating figure. You_ _couldn't_ _let her have any chance to figure out your plan, so you took the two pointiest brushes and hid them in your cuffs, and the rest went into the box, safe, out of sight, out of the reach of a much more proficient set of hands._  

You swallow dry, hand him the box with the paint and think that, there is a chance he wouldn’t say that If he had known. You don’t tell him. How could you tell him? Why would you tell him? But why not tell him? He’s in on this with your sorry ass, right?  

But he’s not  **inside** the hopperbeast hole. And you refuse to be like Vriska. You’re not dragging anybody with you into this. The best intentions through the worst possible ways. When you thought you’d be free of that, finally, you’re the one that started doing it. But you’re determined. You will do what needs to be done. On your own. 

“Hey. Man. You dead there, dude?” 

“No. Obviously not. What am I supposed to say? “Hey! I’m sorry I couldn’t attend the last rehearsal. My sorry ass got dragged to the underground by a corpse. By the way, this is him! Say hi!” doesn't seem like the right thing to say now, does it?” You need to stay on track. 

“Wow. I can ascend now. I’ve seen Karkat fucking Vantas lost on what to say” 

“Shut up and help me think of ideas!” 

“How about “hey, boo. You look lovely today, although you always look lovely. Sorry I couldn’t attend, but I had a friend caught up in a deadly situation. I was hoping we could go out to lunch so I can tell you the crazy story about how I got my ass handed to me in too many different ways but managed to bust him out of the clutches of death in the last second. If you’re interested in hearing that, I mean” and then you can take her to a restaurant” 

That is not a bad idea, in all honesty. It would even explain the huge amount of favors you asked of her in the first place. Oh gog, how are you going to explain the arm thing?  

“Or you could just wing it” he suggests “And what is that supposed to mean?” he shrugs. He shrugs a lot, now that you noticed “Dance with the song, play with the cards that were given to you, do it on the fly, improvise” 

“I don’t improvise, dipshit. That’s the recipe for disaster. And things are already escalated beyond that threshold!” your hands find some solace in your hair. The stings of pain helping you keep yourself grounded and functional “We don’t need to keep adding to the pile! This here-” you say gesturing to the general direction of Nepeta’s house “is the only thing I still have left going on for me that doesn’t involve the dead, the doomed, the crazy or the demented, and I'd rather keep it like that if you don’t fucking mind!” 

“Man, relaaaaax” he says, making a show of jumping up and down and relaxing his shoulders. You close your eyes, take a deep breath and relax your own shoulders, letting you head lol forward. He gives you a light shoulder punch and you squint your ganderbulbs up to the middle, seeing him from behind your bangs and giving him a look of annoyance and disappointment. He ignores and just keeps talking “She’s your boo. She likes you. Just go there and woo her. Make her give all the swoons for you. Make her so out of breath with your smoothness she’s gonna forget you didn’t show up in the first place” 

“Strider, you’ve dealt with me for the last 24 hours. You know I'm as smooth as a fucking cactus and sweet as an expired lemon. Give me something to work with, gog damnit!” 

“Just go there and do your thing. She wouldn’t want to marry you if you had no qualities at all” 

“I have no qualities. She’s marring me out of interest” you deadpan “And I might just have blown that too” 

“Yeah. No. You know what. You're right. You have no qualities. Just talk her into submission. It’s what you do best” he crosses his arms and leans in the wall. 

Is he serious? No. You gotta have some qualities. Some. Any. You may not be the smooth criminal Vriska was trying to make out of you, or the fierce leader Terezi led you to believe you were – if all their deaths tell you anything – or the great romance wizard Eridan needed to help with his relationships, but you must have something. Something worth in you other than your money and connections to other people. Something as in...anything! 

You’re at her door. The anguish and self-doubt opening room for guilt and nervousness. The knuckles of your hand have already done their jobs and as the footsteps approach and the lock in the door starts to turn the wound-up tension in your belly constricts and constricts and... 

“Karkitty?” 


	9. Fraternity Of The Damned

“The crabby crab bows down to the mighty huntress upon entering her domain in an attempt at humbleness” and then you bow. This is so fucking humiliating, but indulging her seems like a safe bet, for now at least. You just hope she’ll be amused enough to not want to make her blade acquainted with your neck.  

“The mighty huntress gestures crabby crab to stand in her purresence, fur he is a most expected guest!” She lifts you from the bow by hooking a finger in your chin and guiding your head gently up. 

Deep breath “Crabby brings the Huntress a present as an apology for the fuck-up" from inside your suit you take two tickets to the new theater play called While You Were Sleeping. “Crabby knows he’s an idiot for leaving the Huntress waiting and not even show up, but he does have good news! Now, instead of showing up and just being generally incompetent, Crabby can fucking perform the vows like he’s supposed to!” 

You see her eyes glow with hope. “The mighty Huntress stalks her pray-” she says taking some steps back “and when she’s certain they’re not suspecting-” and you know what she’s trying to do “THEY ARE SUSPECTING! THEY ARE SUSPECTING!” but she ignores you “SHE POUNCES!” and then the both of you are down on the ground. She’s draped around your neck, her cheeks nuzzling into yours. 

“I missed you so much, Karkitty! Where were you? Why didn’t you even show up?” 

“I can answer all your questions, if you just get the fuck out of me and, please, grab the stuff I asked you to” Oooof. That was a tackle-pounce, The Huntress specialty, you mean, Nepeta’s specialty. This gaudy mind-numbing activity is going to get you retarded faster than you can say the words  _fuck you_  if you keep indulging her. 

“I don’t usually think much about the requests you make beclaws they tend to be huge and all the same thing, but you’re getting me curious, karkitty. Why do you need so meowny pelts?” 

“The freezing season is almost here and I don’t entertain the idea of being nook-deep into snow and/or catching a cold. I have better shit to do with my time than stay inside pretending I'm the fucking sleeping beauty, because I didn’t gather enough resources due to stupidity and neglect of cold hard facts” 

She leaves you, which allows your walking pods...you know what? Humans are mostly stupid dwindling fucks, but they did do one thing right, which is actually the names they gave their body-parts. Being hatched on earth and created by True Alternians did some shit to your vocabulary, but calling your walking pods  _legs_  actually saves you some time. Or maybe it would have, if you didn’t just have this useless monologue in your head. 

You stand. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? And after standing, the next obvious thing to be done is head inside her house. There, the pelts are to be seen neatly folded into a pile, above a desk close to the door in about 20 varieties: some with more fur than others, some with darker tones, but what is really the point of the trip stands on top of it all. A wig of short black horse hair. Perfect. The threads are thin and soft, reminding you of a brand-new violin bow. This is definitely going to be used after this whole thing is done. 

Putting the wig down on top of the pelts, your gaze shifts to pen and paper. Strider’s idea of taking her out to dinner ain’t so farfetched, but he still needs a way in to grab the assets, and you’re the one that’s gonna have to provide it for him. 

“’Peta, would you like to go out to eat? I’m going to fucking wither and die from starvation if I go the next hour without nurturing myself. My treat. We can talk about what happened in the way to or at the restaurant” 

“Where do you purrpose?” she asks intrigued. 

“I’m feeling like...French cousine” 

“Ohhh. Fraternite is probably open by meow” she claps her hands and gives a smile. It really wasn’t so much about the food, but more about the place. Fraternité is a french cousine restaurant located in the main square. Very public. Never empty. Small portions and prices to make a man want to stab his breathsacks. You would think three to fifteen times before considering Fraternité an option but, honestly, you could afford to be a little less frugal after skipping two meals. 

Then again, small portions. What’s with the French and starving people? It would be unsurprising if the fucker who came up with that unbestowable variety of ignorance and selfishness was a cerulean or a violet blood, but apparently the fucker who came up with that idea was an actual human! That, is how you get ornery. That. And people who underestimate you. And a lot of other shit, honestly. The world is just a gigantic frying pan of shit. Maybe, if there was a god that created all of this in the first place, he either regrets his creation or is getting a good laugh on at the price of humanity and troll kind disgraces. If it’s the first case, you can sympathize. If it’s the last, you hope the fucker chokes on his own spit, gag and die. 

Back to the food topic. It’s small portions, but they are exquisite and delicious small portions. So...quantity or quality?  

Quality. Quality food nurtures the soul and the body. And, you can say you took Nepeta somewhere nice. Sigh. And Strider. Even though he won’t be able to enjoy the food, he can enjoy the view and the music. 

“Sounds...decent” you settle. 

“I’ll go change into something more apurrpriate” 

When she starts climbing the stairs, you choose a pelt coat, grab the wig, take a deep breath, wait for her to make a turn into the private area and head out the door back to the main entrance. When you get there, Strider is nowhere to be seen. FUCK! 

Your nose is nowhere near Terezi’s in the scale of proficient, but following the scent of rotting deject and troll blood shouldn’t be too hard. When you see him, he’s lounging in an alley, looking at the ring in his bony hand, taking it off and putting it in, spacing out. You throw the stuff his directions and he does eventually manage to gather them after a bit of flailing. “Looks like you’re not so useless and pan damaged as I though. Your idea worked. I’m taking Nepeta out, and you’re coming with us. Put all that shit on, make yourself at least slightly presentable” he puts the ring and the glove in his hand. Then, he stands. 

“Whatever you say” he says taking steps until he’s right in front of you “Karkitty” he mocks. The snarl comes involuntary from the depths of your throat, complementing the scowl of dissatisfaction. The smirk grows in his painted face, and his shoulders shake, demonstration of his contained laughter. You place your hand in his face and shoves him backwards “IF YOU’RE GONNA LAUGH, FUCKING DO IT PROPERLY, AT LEAST! INSTEAD OF CHOKING ON IT LIKE YOU’RE ABOUT TO VOMIT!” and he snorts. Like a fucking pig. You – 1, Strider – 0. 

“Like hell I’m letting someone of your caliber break my cool” 

“Bulgesucker” 

“Dickwipe” 

“Festering retarded maggot leftover” 

“Wow. Low blow. Although. Not as low as your hight” 

“Fuck you!” 

“Nah. I’d rather fuck with you” 

The feeling is that your gander bulbs are about to get out of your sockets. Did he really just say that with a straight face? No. No. The better question is: how is he still keeping a straight face after saying something like that? 

“Isn’t your boo waiting you or something?” he asks. 

Oh fuck. Nepeta. “Yeah, right. Meet us at Fraternité in about 30 minutes. When you get to the reception say you’re with Mr. Vantas and Ms. Leijon” you see a rapid exhale come out of his mouth “You’re taking her to Fraternité? Holy shit, dude! That place is the fucking pinnacle of rich assholes and ostentation” this is your time to smirk “I happen to know the owner’s-” but you stop dead in your tracks. Thrown in automatic you were about to spill your connections, like you used to do, when they were all alive and kicking ass around. “son” you finish so he doesn’t wonder.  

“You know, even though I’m pretty well connected myself, I never even stepped in the porch of Fraternité, but Eridan would never shut up about it. Dude needed to cool down all the notches when it came to talking about that place” 

“Okay, I need to go. Nepeta is probably waiting on me. See you there” 

“Yeah, no sweat, go to your boo or whatever.” 

* * *

 

Not that you were eager to keep talking to him or anything. He can ditch you for his boo. It’s comprehensible, to say the least. And also, you’re not eager to meet that place, at all. Eridouche talked so much about it that it can’t even surprise you anymore. 

Probably. 

You struggle to put on the wig. Karkat was dumb enough to glue the horns first and give you the wig to put on later, and now, you have to deal with his stupidity. Managing to finally put it on, and combing your new hair with your fingers  _is this made out of horse mane?_ You look at yourself in front of a closed store and conclude: you look awesome even as a troll. Who would’ve thought? You. You would’ve thought. 

Finding the restaurant is easy. You guys are going more to have a snack at it rather than an actual meal at this point, and even you are not oblivious enough to know what French cousine means. Small portions. Exorbitant prices. Lots of ogling around to find someone out of the water enough and dare call it risqué, just so you’ll be entertained enough throughout the meal by judging people. 

Ha. Fun for all the family. 

Bro would be so proud. 

Are there good points in this for you at all? 

When you reach the place, there’s a line. The contortion your face endeavors can’t be stopped even by the years of training of the aloof persona. This looks like what hospitals in the XIV century would have looked like if the people – who way back when didn’t have any decency and used to throw their piss and poop out of windows – had given half an actually decent number of fucks about the fact they were sick. 

That, and if medicine had advanced at a faster pace, and churches didn’t decide to monopolize knowledge. 

And then there was Napoleon. 

The irony of history. 

And Irony is just a beautiful thing, isn’t it? 

You don’t see Karkat or his Boo in the line.  _Nepeta? Was that her name?_  And decide you’ll just... ask the guy that’s controlling the entrances. 

Tall, burly and indigo. What’s with people and stereotypes these days? 

 _When you get there, say you’re with Mr._ _Vantas_ _and Ms._ _Leijon_  

“I’m with Mr. Vantas and Ms. Leijon. They’re inside, already” 

Just like the plan.  

The troll’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t even look in the book to know if you’re in the list or not. He gestures inside, opening a path and pushing people out of the way. 

Your chest fills with pride and cockiness. You look at the line of people you’re not getting into. Look at the fancy place you’re entering. Look at the half-bent troll who’s gesturing for you to get inside. You wanna give the smile of prideful superiority that’s twitching in your mouth. But you’re a nobleman. This sort of thing shouldn’t make you swell with pride. That should be everyday life for you. 

When you enter and see yourself outside of the reach of prying eyes, though, you smile full on. A dark and crocked smile. Not because of the line you just dodged. Or because of the place you’re entering and its ostentatious architecture. Or because of the troll who’s taking you shakily to the table the two lovebirds are gonna be sharing with you. 

Nah. All of that goes straight past ‘ya. 

Mixed feelings compose your smile. Pride of yourself, and a strangled feeling Bro would definitely be proud of you, too. Happiness of getting a bittersweet kind of vengeance. He thought you died, and you did, but he never even looked for your body. You don’t even have a tombstone in the Graveyard. So, to know you’ve reached such high places without him coaching you, places that even though he is alive he’s never gonna get, fills you with a bitter sweetness. 

The one-up-manship contest? You won! Just by being here, doing nothing, you won! 

Who would have thought that you only had to die to get what you wanted. 

Easy enough. 

Better than getting married with someone you saw mostly by portraits, and only meet once, that’s for sure. 

The place is built as a theater, with a deep stage up front that has both its red and thick curtains shut. The walls are tall, and have pillars all about its length. A couple really high balconies fill both walls. They’re isolated. Private. 

Holy shit, Karkat is sitting on the balcony that’s closest to the stage. 

You swallow thickly. That’s VIP treatment in a fancy schmancy place. 

He’s rich. He’s a lot of fun to poke. He can be carrying and passionate about stuff. 

Why couldn't he be a girl? 

He’d be the perfect suitor. 

You are dead, and even then, life is not fair. 

The scrawny gold blood leads you up the stairs to Karkat’s balcony and leaves you in there, running off to god-knows-where-and-you-don’t-give-a-shit. You watch him skedaddle out of there and back downstairs. 

“Took you long enough to find us, shit stain” 

The balcony in itself has hardwood flooring, a round table covered in a white cloth with purple and golden decorated rims. Four hardwood chairs with ostensively carved backs. Four plates. Four sets of silverware. Four glasses. Currently, tree people. You seat. 

“I’ve been known for making an entrance” 

“Fashionably late only works for attractive people” 

“Is that why you’re always so punctual about your encounters?” 

“Meow! And I was afurraid we would make him feel like a third wheel” 

You were going to swallow some spit that had been forming in your mouth, but that just choked you. And uncontrollable fit of coughing strikes you while trying to remedy the situation but, hopefully, Karkat is going to understand and save your ass. 

His face scrunches more than a raisin. How can there be someone so expressive in this earth? 

“We are *not* in a quadrant. Of any sort” 

“You two could certainly have fooled me” she said, sporting a half smile. 

“Yeah. No. Not *even* over my dead body” he says giving you a look that means  _even if the moral implications of me and you being less weird than a_ _xenonecrophilious_ _r_ _e_ _lationship I'd still not be interested._ You just laugh internally, shaking your shoulders and quirking the right side of your mouth up. You agree, completely, but the fuss he does about making his point gets to you. His expressiveness is just so...refreshing. 

“Not that I'd be interested, but it’d be his loss, mostly” 

A cerulean troll appears in waiter clothing. 

“Monsiers, madame, is there anything I could help you with?” 

“I’ll have every single fucking thing you have on the menu” 

Everyone’s necks snap at Karkat, so fast the heads turn. 

“I’m sorry, monsier. Could you repeat that?” 

Karkat makes a point to talk slowly, like he’s explaining something very complex to an old and retarded person, because his volume also increases. 

“I. Want. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. Your. Chef. Can. Actually. Cook. Off. Of. This. Menu.” 

You look at the lady next to you. You look at the waiter. You realize your own mouth is agape. So are theirs. 

“Sir, I know you’re a special guest-” 

“Oh. I sure as fuck am. And even though I haven’t seen him in quite a while, tell Dualscar that the Deviled Eggs With Crab were a great appetizer, and the Hearty Bouillasque was mouthwatering. As they always are” 

The waiter’s eyes widen. He takes the menu and runs out of the balcony. 

“Karkitty, what was that?” 

That was the kind of thing you wish you could do. 

Wait. He said he had less than a third of the company. 

How much money *is* his company worth? 

And how much will it be worth after they are married? This kind of math doesn’t compute. 

This guy is helping you find the love of your life. 

You think you might have found it. 

The love of your life is his money. 

Holy shit. This is not a pretty feeling. 

* * *

 

You fucked up and doesn’t give two shits. Try losing two meals yourself and fending for your life. Anybody who’d go through that would comprehend the hunger that gets someone. 

So, you ordered everything on the menu. 

Your wallet hates you... A lot. 

This is where you’re spending 45% of this months worth of income. You’re going to have to do some math after all this is eaten on how exactly you’re going to be living the rest of the month. 

If you do manage to stay alive, that is. 

“That was me being a hungry asshole” you rethink your sentence “which means it was just me being hungry” 

“Well, hunger can turn you into a grumpy kitty but-” 

“Ain’t ordering everything overkill?” Strider cuts Nepeta. 

It was an overkill, but you’re not gonna let him see through your stupidity. 

“Absolutely not! And more pressingly, I haven’t introduced you two” diversion. Nothing saves ass like diversion “This is my fiancée, Nepeta Victoria Leijon, daughter of Count Leijon” 

“Wait. The Count Leijon? The guy who led an army of soldiers and kicked some mighty ass?” 

Way to be specific, shitsponge. 

“Purrciseley” 

Wow, Nepeta. You’re falling for this? Roleplaying so much is rotting your brains. 

“And this shitty engagement crasher is Dave Stride” 

Strider gives an inquisitive look and a little cringe. Yeah. He didn’t like the adjustments you made to his name. Well, fuck him. He’s gonna deal with it. 

“Meowver heard of it” she puts a face like trying to remember a name “I have heard of Striders, but not of Stride” 

“What have you heard of the Striders?” He asks. Probably wants to know what do people think of his family. 

You don’t think he’ll like it. 

“You’ve nefurr heard of the Striders?” 

“No one ever gives two fucks about those fucks. Don’t even bother” 

“No no no. You can’t just cut me, your good friend, out of the gossip” 

Did he just promote himself as your friend? To say you’re taken aback is an understatement. What a cocky fuck! Nepeta is looking at him, but the sideways light makes you able to tell he’s looking your way. 

...his eyes glisten...one of his eyebrows is up, indicating a cunning question. You scowl. He knows you won’t correct him in front of Nepeta, so he’s just promoting himself. You wouldn’t mind if it was not the fact that he just. Gets. Your. Nerves. 

You sigh through your nose and downs your shoulders. Meanwhile, Nepeta decides to just put out all the cards on the table. 

“The towns folk say they are a family of demons-” she starts, startling him. He’s obviously surprised to hear such “no one has seen the state owner in six months or so. Not even on church. Not since his little brother went into the woods with his family heirloom. People say he was running away from his cursed state and his older brother. Purrobably something to do with the cursed of the place they lived in” then she looks at you “it is said that the home houses way less cubs than it should. There’s people who speculate they eat the cubs furr the purrpose of gathering wealth and eternal life” Strider is always stoic, but even though he keeps an impassive face, his fists tighten and his jaw clenches. Fucker’s not feeling so prime with all this shit. 

“Hey, fuckface. Doesn’t that remind you of how I saved your ass of a bunch of blue blooded shitheads at that encounter? No humans can be more demonic than those guys. Bunch of hefty sacks of shit”  

His eyebrows lift, his jaw and fists unclench. He gets where you’re taking this conversation. 

“Little Mcshouty there got the crap beaten out of him before breaking me free, but entered the place like I was his Aurora and he was prince charming, except all his charm came in the for of insults to my captors. Laughed my lungs out.” 

“Karkitty can be purrposefully extravagant went he wants to” 

“Extravagant is an udderstatement” 

Slowly. Very slowly. You look to your side. 

A tall indigo blood looks down to you. It might be because of the fact you’re sitting, for the moment, but he would do the same if you were standing as well. He’s at least a head taller. His long hair is in a neat low ponytail and he is massive and broad. 

Him. This guy right here. He, is the definition of large as a barge. But fuck if he doesn’t stink as one as well. Holy fuck. 

“I think Mr. Stride and Karkitty were just getting to the good pawrt of the story of why he didn’t show up last time” 

“I STRONGLY hope this is exquisitely good” 

“I didn’t know we were waiting a fourth party to arrive” said Strider. 

Oh, yeah. You were kind of hopping Nepeta wasn’t going to invite him, just talk to him for you. 

“Dave, this is-” 

“Equius! He’s my meowrail! And this is Dave Stride” 

“Stride” he says, as if tasting the name in his tongue. Strider cringes slightly at the other side of the table. Okay. You admit. Without the “r” the name lacks a lot of its punch. Very reminiscent of tasting watered down vodka. Urgh. What have you done? That tastes shitty. “Never heard of” the blue blood settles. 

“Keep going Karkitty! What did you do to the blue bloods?” 

“Bloo bloods?” Equius asked 

“Oh. It was fantastic. They ripped the skin right out of my arm before he could do anything about it. It was before he even arrived, really” Strider takes the glove out of his hand underneath the table, and when he shows his body hand. Huh. Ringless. 

You remember every time you saw him fidgeting with the thing. His hand feels empty. You almost want to put the thing back. Suited him... And these are the kinds of thought to be addressed later. Right now, your hand dances circularly, back and forward, trying to emphasize the  _how about we move on, already?_ Side of things and add “And that’s why we need your fucking help with the arm thing”. 

“Neighther of you have told me exactly the nature of such an assault. Also, watch your language. As my meowrail- I mean- moirail's future husband, you must learn how to behoove with utmost nobility” 

Oh, no. You’re not taking that shit from this guy. 

“They were fucking con artists and obviously organ hoarders for fucks sake! They didn’t just take that chaffed bulges hand, they took his whole projectile vomit inducing arm! Do YOU wanna take a look at that? Do YOU wanna make NEPETA look at THAT? Cause if not, take my word for it and just do as I ask? Why not? It’ll be all around beneficial! But nooooooo. No one ever listens to me. But guess what, fuckface, everyone who ever did is-” Dead. 

Everyone who ever listened to you is utterly dead. Dead and buried. And fuck, did they suffer to die. You can’t command anyone. Everything you put effort into chewed your ass. Look at yourself. When was the last time you had to ask Equius for a favor? Although, you did see Terezi and Vriska smile a lot after they died. And the underworld isn't a bad place. Silver linings of the circle of life...you think. They all seemed “better” you say, sticking with that conclusion. 

Urgh. The guy is visibly sweating right now. Gross. 

“They really need your help, Equius. It would be purrity noble of you to help these poor stray kittens” she intervenes. 

“I really would rather not be compared to a stray anything, but I guess in this case it works” says Strider while shrugging his shoulders with crossed arms and the gloves back in his hands.  

Could he have changed the ring between his hands? Removed it and put it back? Tucked it safely away? Your gander bulbs dart from neck to cuffs to blazer pocket. Nothing in each of those. Could he actually have lost the ring? You let him have it and he LOSES IT? No. No. No. You are not going to freak over a ring you gave away. You gave it. He can do whatever with it. Fuck, he can fucking shove it for all you care. He can give it away to the love of his life or something. You don’t give a fuck. 

You look at Equius. He swipes a stripe of sweat from his face, pulls the chair opposite of Nepetas and sits “I think I could do it”. 

“Holy Jupiter’s Sulphur atmosphere! I’m getting a mechanical arm?” Strider perks. 

“Not a fully functional one” the blue blood comments “Against all odds, you seem to have retained all the functions of your arm. It would be a moo point to reestablish that for you. What I can and am agreeing to do is provide you with an enhancement that is both, utilitarian and esthetic.” 

“I can dig that” Strider says, pointing at Equius rapidly. 

But you guys are not only on a mission. You’re on a schedule. 

“When will it be ready?” 

Before Equius can respond, the food arrives. Part of it, at least. About a third of all you ordered. Him and Nepeta visibly swallow. Strider looks at the food and sighs without letting people notice, only lifting his chest and letting it down quickly. Could he maybe...miss the taste of food? He doesn’t have a stomach anymore, but maybe he can’t taste it either? 

 

 _If I touch a burning candle/ I can feel no pain/ If you cut me with a knife it’s still the same_  

 

He didn’t say anything about food being one of the things he can’t feel anymore, but maybe it is? 

Assess later. You’ve skipped two meals. There’s no universe where you don’t eat this, with the hunger you have. Some dishes are better served than others and you grab a bit of everything they bring, shoving things in your mouth like a savage because you literally couldn’t bring yourself to use forks or spoons to eat a bunch of things. “Holy shit, dude. Where did all this hunger come from? You look like a factory worker on the Christmas event the church organizes every year after working his maximum cofeeless workload” 

“Or a savage” adds Equius. 

“Or purrity cute” she says and the meat you were tearing with your teeth goes down the windtube instead of the digestivetube. You blush and choke at the same time, coughing hard. You down it with water and hopes for the best.  

“Well, fuck all of you” you manage. 


	10. INTERMISSION

You are no one.

You are  merely a spectator of events. But you’re with me, and I  tailor  the story, which means that even though you are no one, you’re everybody that matters.

We’ve been entrapped in  an endless  loop between those two, and though they are the main characters, they aren’t the only ones.

A change in perspective is in order.

But  remember that, for this chapter: you are no one.

See this scenery I present you? The humble stone house with hay ceiling? The tall, dark green grass? The grand trees that rival castles in height? This is the outskirts of the city we were just in, many centuries before the Cavendish Home,  Fraternité  or The Cemetery overgrowth. There are no paths that could bring you here, so lost in woods it is. Not even in the time when our current story takes place.

If this place is magic? In a way I guess I could say it is. But not the wonderful magic you imagine. That doesn’t exist.  Wonder is merely a concept created by adults in order to provide hope to their offspring. Wonder is a feeling you have when something  unbelievable  and good happens. Wonder is happiness.

There is no magic to bring happiness, therefore, there is no wonderful magic. But don’t be  misled . Magic exists. It’s real. And  it  couldn’t be further from wonderful.

See the humble lady that comes about, entering the humble house,  carrying a couple of  nature’s  gifts in her  humble  basket?

That lady is a witch. That house is her lair. That basket is filled with potion ingredients.

C’mon. Don’t be afraid. You’re with me, and you are no one.

Now that all that is settled, allow me to tell you a story.

This house we’re entering is located in an  ever-changing  place inside the Lost Woods. Why the name? Because the forest is a magic maze. No one that got in without a guide has ever left, and for you to find a guide in the first place is an almost impossible task.

Luckily  for you, I’m one of the qualified experts in maze guiding. You’re welcome.

Now, where was I? Oh, right, the story.

You should know this by now, but that lady is nor troll nor human. She’s something much more powerful, much more brute, much more harrowing. You should be afraid. But not of her, specifically. Your fright should be by what she entails.

These things  never come alone, even if they do come in a single body.

Oh, that puppet? You’d be surprised at his role. She’s the one who made him what he is in the first  place.

Don’t be so surprised. I told you I would tell you a story, didn’t I?

Once upon a time there were a boy and a girl. They were s iblings , and they hated each other with a passion.

Their sheer existence was the definition of  antithetical. But nothing could split them apart.

Not even themselves.

They fought for dominance o ver  the body they shared and when she realized how close to losing to  him  she was, a ploy was orchestrated.

This right here, is the culmination of that ploy.

What is she doing?

She’s luring him. Out of her, more specifically.

Her brother had  hate , and fury, and  intolerance  for the different, but he also had a thing she didn’t: passion. They both had things they cared about. He was trying to break her by destroying what she loved. She didn’t have passions, though. That was her wild card.

She lured him out by  threatening  to destroy his  passion.

Hate and fury alone don’t do for a great way of living.

His passions were his calling. And that puppet was his most prized passion. It was the first thing he ever made right.

When she dumped him in the caldron, her brother abandoned her body in order to save his only good creation so far. His first good creation.

And then, as the lights of his  passion  went out of her, and her  dominance  was ascertained, she was free of him.

I think I haven’t introduced you to the puppet of Dave’s most amazing nightmares properly.

This is Lil’ Cal. Short for Little  Caliborn .

The lady currently sitting on the couch crying her eyes out? Her name is Calliope. In a couple hundred years or so, she’s going to teach two young ladies. One of which you already know about, and one you’ v e yet to meet.

Don’t be sad for her. She won.

She’s been winning for a while.

Until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4/13 Everyone! C=


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